


Ain't Got Time to Bleed

by MorganOfTheFey



Series: OTP: Fight Club [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (and it's actually not Gavin doing it!), Alley Sex, Autistic Character, Cock & Ball Torture, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hank's just in here for the occasional one-liner cameo, Hazing, Learning how to communicate, M/M, Nines - Freeform, Orgasm Denial, PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Trans Character, Verbal Humiliation, again it's just weeds guys, bonding through mutual hatred of coworkers, gavin - Freeform, implied references to past abuse / rape, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-07-20 09:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16134860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: RK900 struggles to find his place in the DPD, as his lacking social module becomes increasingly frustrating, Detective Reed continues to antagonize him at crime scenes, and his coworkers attempt some "friendly" hazing. In a stunning twist of events however, Reed's possessiveness over "his" android actually outweighs his dickishness, and the two actually manage to halfway communicate with each other and get invited out for drinks.In the first social situation Nines has ever been in outside of work, he experiments with exciting new activities such as: getting hustled at pool, punishing Gavin for it in the back alley, and going home with him afterward.But only for one night. Obviously.





	1. [helpful.exe not found]

**Author's Note:**

> what is UP my dudes? turns out I'm not dead after all, and I'm back atcha with fresh new Reed900 hell! this time, I'm gonna make the two angry bois learn how to talk to each other like real actual adults before they can smash
> 
> a quick heads up for what you're getting into: I get pretty deep into Nines's POV and made up obligatory tragic backstory in this fic, with Gavin just sort of along for the ride. I'm going for a more "android" thought process for the chapters from Nines's POV, and there's a "data report" at the end of each of them that I promise will make sense at the end when they're all put together so please just trust me if they seem odd at first
> 
> Gavin is also still trans, still with a functioning penis because it's the future and I said so. since this fic is way more centered on Nines, it doesn't really come up much besides the occasional reference when that sort of thing is relevant, but I'll get into all his stuff at some point during this series too

RK900 is not programmed to be helpful nor pretend to be, not the way his predecessor is. In fact, he was specifically programmed with a lack of social protocols and an intense discomfort to both physical and emotional intimacy in order to reduce the likelihood of deviancy.

Nevertheless, he does want to solve this case quickly and efficiently, and his lack of emotional intelligence means he often has to rely on Detective Reed's human input to determine the motivations of the sort of reckless, irrational humans driven to commit murder. As infuriating as that reliance may be, they make an effective team.

"Well, fuck. Look at all this," Detective Collins says, despite the words providing no relevant information.

Nines is already in the process of analyzing the crime scene. Caucasian female human, age sixty-seven. Gunshot to the side of her right temple, point blank, traces of gunpowder scorched into the skin. Nine millimeter bullet, 78% probability, based on the entrance and exit wound. Bullet and casing missing from the scene. No defensive wounds on the victim, nor any sign she had reacted at all. No forced entry at any of the entrance points. 82% probability of the perpetrator being a family member.

Meanwhile, Reed works through his own human method of analyzing via poking her cheek to the side with a pencil. The vast majority of what humans say requires no response because it is meaningless chatter. While Reed was prone to giving long, and frequently loud, rants containing his unwanted opinions, at least his partner never attempted to engage in _small talk_.

"Got a time of death yet?" Detective Collins asks, finally saying something pertinent.

"Between nine and eleven," Reed answers. "Probably--"

"Ten-oh-two and ten-thirty-eight," Nines corrects.

Reed's answer was not incorrect, but it was far too approximate. The human is unable to analyze the victim's exact body temperature and calculate the average degrees lost per hour, nor interface with the television to access an internal record of the last channel switch, nor verify--

"Fuck off. No one asked for your input, asshole."

Had Detective Collins's question been directed solely to Reed then? It is difficult to determine who humans mean to address. They can only turn their faces toward one another and verbally shout. So inefficient.

"Welp." Detective Collins takes an annoyingly loud slurp of his coffee. "I'll just leave you two to it, then."

Reed says _thanks_ with enough sarcasm for even Nines to pick up on it. This case is exceedingly simple. RK900 is the most advanced android ever created. Yet the cases they are assigned could be solved by even a human child, all because of some interpersonal conflict between Captain Fowler and Detective Reed. Cases should be assigned on merit, based on results. Number of cases closed and solved, with the length of time at the department taken into account. Not ... personal feelings.

"This is bullshit," Reed grumbles. "Fucking Anders could do this, and he couldn't find his own asshole with both hands and a laxative."

The outward display of emotion is unprofessional, as is the profanity. Reed's volatile temper is the leading cause of conflict with his coworkers, and likely the direct cause of their assigned "busywork" cases.

That does not make him incorrect, however.

"Do not poison your coworkers, detective," Nines says.

"Don't tell me what to do."

The retort is more meaningless human speech. Reed doesn't "accidentally" shoulder-check him, or spill coffee on him, or even swear. Connor insists on showing him multiple videos of dogs at every opportunity in an attempt to elicit an emotional response. Nines does not feel anything for the animals, either negative or positive, but he has recognized the similarities between his partner and the very small chihuahua dogs that bark aggressively at anything bigger than them.

Reed's barking is slightly better than social niceties. Nines can simply repeat "fuck off" back at Reed, and the human will consider that a complete conversation.

"I have completed my preliminary scan of the body," he announces instead.

"I'm calling the Captain right now to ask about your parade," Reed says, using the remote to manually go through the victim's streaming service account. His phone remains in his front right pocket.

Nines sections off a small sliver of processing power to stay connected with the television while he carefully inserts one finger into the bullet hole. Diameter confirmed. Probably of nine millimeter bullet 99.8%. Account settings > Activity > Yesterday.

"The victim started the application at seven-twenty-two pm. The last input--"

"You think I can't fucking--HEY!"

Nines looks up from the corpse, automatically scanning this room and the ones beyond for new intruders and other potential threats. Detective Reed registers as the most threatening variable in the household.

"Don't just skull fuck her, what is wrong with you?" Reed demands.

"I am fully operational, detective." Nines removes his finger, and the human's eyes follow the movement with a very clear expression of disgust. "If you are referring to my secondary examination of the body, I already informed you--"

"If you put that in your mouth, I will shoot you for real."

"It would be ineffective."

Reed exhales harshly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He mutters profanity and anti-android sentiments that Nines can hear just as well as if he had spoken clearly. At least he is not expressing these opinions in another room, just before Nines enters, the conversation halting before those same humans smile at him and pretend to be nice. The possibility of Detective Reed committing violence is very easy to read, often verbally outlined in advance, and always physical.

He is a simple little chihuahua.

"You cannot. Fingerblast. A victim's bullet wound," Reed finally says.

Nines looks up the definition of _fingerblast_ and pulls a similar face of disgust. "I was analyzing--"

"Leave it to ballistics." Reed steps forward and jams his own fingers against Nines's chest. "You aren't special! Everything you and Connor do, we've already been doing for years now. I don't--" Jab. "Need." Jab. "Your _fucking_." Jab. "Help!"

Nines takes Reed's wrist, his thumb digging into a pressure point beneath the meat of the human's own thumb. Reed bares his teeth at him in an actual snarl, but doesn't try to yank his arm away or cry out in pain. A bad dog, but a brave one.

"I do not doubt your ability to solve this case, detective," RK900 informs him. "I can simply do it faster."

The possibility of Reed throwing a punch, even with his non-dominant left hand, shoots up to sixty-seven percent. Detective Collins sticks his head back in the doorway.

"Hey, I got a possible witness out here," he calls. "Next door neighbor was taking the trash out. Might'a seen something."

The detective doesn't mention the way Nines is still inflicting pain on Reed, who suddenly smirks back at him.

"Go interview the witness then, robo cop."

Nines doesn't move. The witness will likely attempt to tell him their entire life story, about any possible pets, history of medical problems, the bird they saw yesterday, and any other irrelevant information that happens to flit across their tiny little mind. And that is if he can ensure they speak to him at all. He might have solved every case assigned to him so far, but his social interaction success rate is dismal.

"No?" Reed asks, voice pitched to mimic concerned surprise. He is neither, and the scowl quickly settles back on his face. "Then stay the fuck out of my way."

Nines releases his wrist and does not prevent him from stomping out the door. Their previous interactions had been better than this. Either the last few days had been a temporary anomaly or something specifically happened today to put Reed in a bad mood.

RK900 spends the time left alone in the victim's living room attempting to run preconstructions. They all fail almost immediately. The closest he gets to workable scenarios are that Reed's former "good mood" may have temporarily been caused by their sexual interaction at his apartment or that his current bad mood is the result of someone specific, most likely a coworker, since the detective does not seem to have any other personal interactions outside of work. Excluding himself. That hardly narrows down the list of suspects however, since Reed hates everyone in their department and most other departments as well.

Perhaps he could attempt to influence a "good mood" again.

Yet Detective Reed is a fully grown adult and working in an allegedly professional capacity. If he requires constant sexual stimulation in order to properly do his job, Nines will request a competent partner. Other possibilities to improve Reed's mood falter off however, right after [provide coffee, six sugars, three creams] and [shut the fuck up]. Those are the only observed actions that lower the human's stress levels.

The internet may provide more possibilities, but Nines suspects most of them will suggest sexual activities. Filtering through the results to find only platonic options requires an understanding of the social boundaries between two [heterosexual?] males, which therefore requires an understanding of typical male gender roles, which therefore requires an understanding of childhood and parenting, which therefore requires--

No.

RK900 was not built to be helpful.

 

 

**[data report: ...]**

**...**

**...**

**hands touching [data: UNKNOWN] touching [component #8427g], [component #6312t], [component REDACTED]**


	2. No Errors Detected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines gets hazed and has flashbacks to his stress tests at Cyberlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obviously some **trigger warnings** here: hazing, ableism in the form of mocking OCD, PTSD flashbacks, quick references to graphic violence and what basically amounts to torture, and some gaslighting thrown in for good measure. I try not to get super explicit about any of it, and the last two are references to past events, not anything that happens "on screen."
> 
> I'm posting this chapter early since these first two are pretty short, and I'll try to still update this fic with a new chapter on Friday or Saturday with Sweet Dreams!

RK900's coworkers are whispering about him again, as if his hearing is not infinitely more advanced than theirs. He keeps his eyes straight ahead as he walks, ignoring their whispers and giggles about a new video. Perhaps if he doesn't make eye contact--

"Hey, RK, come look at this!"

Camden Anders, white heterosexual cisgender male. Very proud of all those descriptors. Age thirty-nine. Desperate to be twenty-four again. Sweats excessively even in mild temperatures. Nines does not wish to interact with him and keeps walking.

"C'mon, Nines," Chen says. "It's just a photo montage."

Detective Tina Chen, [friend] of Reed. She didn't interfere with Reed's hostility to Connor, which she has since apologized for. The other humans in the group are all caucasian males. Her appearance may decrease the probability of the video containing graphic content. Anders will not be silent until he views whatever they have pulled up this time. The average Youtube video length is two minutes, forty seconds. Then he may complete his task of returning this archaic flashdrive to the evidence room.

Nines approaches the terminal the other officers are gathered around. Anders clicks play. The first photo is not a disassembled android or a human burn victim. It does not include genitalia either, nor any apparent pornography. It is a parking lot, except the spaces for the cars are uneven and one row is even slanted diagonally, bisecting the straight line of parking spaces at an illogical angle.

The humans giggle.

A tiled floor in a clear black-and-white pattern with a single black tile one spot out of place.

A roll of toilet paper punched through the holder sideways, rather than using the provided cardboard tube.

A sheet of paper full of tally marks with one tally crossed the opposite direction from all the rest.

The humans are outright laughing now. One of them pokes him. RK900 understands what this is. As a true 00 prototype, the very first build of his series, he had to endure numerous performance and sustainability tests to prove his line should be continued. Allegedly, those files were scrubbed from his memory bank before he was placed back in storage while new RK900s would have went into production. He would be kept at the Cyberlife tower for future troubleshooting issues when they needed a physical test model to experiment on.

That made a logical sense. Cyberlife's prime directive had been to eradicate deviancy from their programming, and as the attempted solution, it was only logical that his programming had been strenuously tested for sustainability. While the testing procedures were outlined and overseen by Amanda, and therefore may have contained extra cruelty to satisfy an internal anger over his predecessor's defiance, Cyberlife also legitimately needed to know how much he could be disassembled and still function. 

RK900 would much rather endure another technician peel back his chest chassis and administer an electric shock directly to his thirium pump than whatever needless cruelty this is.

"This doesn't like, bother you, does it?"

RK900 cannot identify the human who speaks. He is being presented with images of failure and failure results in more tests. More punishment. Hard shutdowns and rebooting in unfamiliar environments, components missing, under attack from

A manhole cover with a white stripe on it placed crooked to the white stripe along the street.

technician's hand inside of him and yanking on

A blue sprinkle in a container of red sprinkles.

both arms missing and visual processor shut down while four armed SQ800 units

A sweatshirt with the writing 23nd Annual.

predecessor model that deviated begging for the disassembly to stop as metal arms strip out internal wiring through its

RK900 briefly delves into its source code to manually control its LED color. Displaying signs of distress indicates internal instability and will result in more rigorous testing to correct the programming error. Failure is unacceptable. RK900 will be a successful model when there are no more failures recorded. Failures cannot be recorded if the technicians are unaware of them.

"Damn, this really doesn't bother you?"

"Aw, I wanted to see it go red!"

"This is stupid. It's not like he feels anything."

No more failures are recorded. Mission objective achieved.

"Yeah. Hey, I gotta get back to work. RK, where were you going?"

Detective Tina Chen, [friend] of Detective Gavin Reed. [assigned human] A reply is needed. Speech requires formulating a reply. [social-module status: MISSING] Verbal speech requires running [subroutine: breathingcalm.exe] and moving his lips in the correct shapes around the breaths to form sound.

[choose facialexpression subroutine: neutral.exe, hostile.exe, attentivelistening.exe, hostilesmile.exe]

[additional facialexpression subroutines may be installed by a Cyberlife te

[run breathingcalm.exe] [run neutral.exe]

"The evidence room."

Detective Tina Chen, [friend] of Detective Gavin Reed [assigned human] smiles at him. The other humans smiled at him as well. The expressions were not indicators of friendship. Is Detective Chen's expression friendly? [social-module status: MISSING]

"Cool, that's on my way," she says. "C'mon, you can tell me all the weird shit you've analyzed about Gavin."

RK900 follows Detective Chen. He will achieve mission objective [return flashdrive to evidence room]. The fact that this course takes him away from the other humans is incidental and need not be recorded.

"Sorry, I didn't realize they were going to be such dicks about it," Detective Chen says. "It's kind of a right of passage though. They showed me porn. Gavin got a screamer jump scare, and he punched Anders in the side of the head. Told the captain it was an automatic reaction. I should've punched Anders in the dick and told him that's my automatic reaction to seeing penises. Like spiders, y'know? I don't care how big it is, I'm gonna scream and smash it if I see one I don’t expect."

RK900 lets the human speak without interruption. He cannot analyze them for social context, although if taken at face value, the anecdote seems to indicate he has now experienced "hazing." Common experiences accelerate bonding between humans. Tina Chen and Gavin Reed have also experienced this particular instance of hazing. RK900 does not have the emotional capability to "bond."

"All right, well. Here we are." Detective Chen hesitates to leave, despite reaching the point where her path should continue. "You good?"

[run breathingcalm.exe] [run neutral.exe]

"I am fully operational."

"Yeah, but ..." Detective Chen increases their physical proximity but declines to touch him. Combat protocols do not need to be activated. "Are you OK?"

[set component #9301 color: #1ad1ff]

"Yes, detective. I am fine."

RK900 does not have [facialexpression: reassuring.exe] installed. His attempts to mimic human expressions have an 87% failure rate. [neutral.exe] will have to be sufficient. Detective Chen looks him over. She cannot scan him, and he has already set his internal stress level indicator to the correct amount for a typical workday--27%, ten percentage points higher than average to account for working with Detective Reed--regardless.

"All right. See you around then."

Detective Chen leaves. No failures were recorded. RK900 enters the evidence room and returns the flashdrive to box 337. Mission objective complete.

The eight minutes, fourteen seconds spent standing alone in the room as component #9301 cycles #e60000 do not need to be recorded. The footage on the security camera is replaced after he leaves to show his departure precisely eight minutes earlier. The intervening footage shows nothing but the empty room.

 

 

 

**[data report ...]**

****

****

...

...

 **visual cortex [OFFLINE] motor function [OFFLINE] tactile processor [ONLINE] [set sensitivity levels: 100%]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, Gavin will be back soon!
> 
> (SQ800 units are military models)


	3. [vague hand motion]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines still isn't sure how to Social, but he manages to muddle through a conversation when Gavin asks him what's wrong--and then almost initiates a physical fight with Lieutenant Anderson by bringing up his dead son. Luckily, Gavin is there to teach him about "fighting words," of which the human knows many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little late because I got busy on Friday, whoops! Wednesday might be a better day to do updates for this fic anyway so I'm not trying to edit and post two chapters in one day.

"All right, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Detective Reed demands.

RK900 does not look up from his terminal, although visual contact is unnecessary to interface with the device. "I am fully--"

"Fully full of shit, I got that," Reed says. He has lowered his phone for once. He must have failed a level in the annoying candy game he plays. "You still pissy I yelled at you the other day?"

"Your temper tantrums have no affect on my functional state."

"Your LED isn't spinning, dumbass." Reed taps his own temple. "It's all one solid blue. That's not what they look like."

[facialexpression: hostile.exe] runs without his permission. Reed just scoffs at it. The human _does_ have a fear response, but RK900 has never observed Reed actually listening to his biological imperative for self-preservation. Given that the last time he attempted to murder the human, Gavin became aroused, he may be experiencing some human form of malfunction.

"That's right, I'm a detective. I detect shit." Reed leans forward, bracing his elbows on his desk to ask more quietly across the expanse of their desks, "So what the fuck's wrong?"

Probe for weakness, attempt to bond through mutual complaints, genuine question of concern--although RK900 believes he can reasonably discard the latter two possibilities, his prediction software does not cover social situations. Much more so than his predecessor, RK900 was built to hunt deviants. Even human police departments had a separate Internal Affairs, and 800 models were likewise never meant to investigate themselves, or equipped to deal with instances of deviant military androids.

Yet it was a severe oversight to assume that meant his model would not need a social module, even only to hunt deviants. One of the most critical keys to detective work is to establish a motive, which RK900 struggles to do, because some lab technician fretted that allowing him to recognize facial expressions would turn him into a cocksucking treehugger like Connor.

And now he has been _mocked_ by petty little humans, which he cannot entirely disavow because Gavin Reed is a human and he needs his partner's assistance just to interview a fucking witness--

RK900 ensures his neutral expression is running and his LED stays blue, with a soft white spin. "I dislike our coworkers."

"Wait, who's pissing you off other than me?" Reed asks.

Probe for weakness, attempt at bonding through mutual dislike, genuine question of concern. [preconstruction: failed] RK900 tries to preconstruct a scenario in which he raises his voice. Yelling lowers Reed's stress levels sometimes. Yelling is a poor intimidation tactic that stems from insecurity. Humans are much more unnerved by a quiet promise of violence. Yelling would therefore be inefficient. RK900 is not inefficient.

There is a mug on Reed's desk to support the human's perpetual coffee consumption. He could throw it across the room. He charts a trajectory that would avoid injuries and hit the wall. It would break. There would be spilled coffee and broken ceramic on the floor. Both would need to be cleaned. No objectives would be accomplished by this.

"Anders."

"Did he show you one of those weird, stupid videos?" Reed starts to take a drink of coffee and pauses with the mug halfway raised. "Did he show you a screamer? Do you need help hiding his body? Because that stupid motherfucker is not smart enough to realize you could literally kill him."

He could kill Anders. The human has few living family members he contacts. No steady significant other. Calls in sick on Mondays after weekend benders often enough that if RK900 timed it right, he wouldn't be missed for three to five days. It is very simple to run his preconstructive software in reverse to calculate the perfect method for disposing of the body. It is a much more pleasant scenario to run than attempting to act out a childish tantrum.

"Yeah, OK, the face you're making right now?" Reed's voice cuts into his thoughts. "Save how it feels to your hard drive and then never do it again."

RK900 does save the exact configuration of his face muscles as an expression, but he doesn't know how to label it. Further analysis will be required. Except Reed seems to be in a surprisingly non-hostile mood. Maybe his partner's attitude reflects the moon cycles, or the current temperature, or the mating habits of an elephant in China.

"What did the expression convey?" RK900 asks.

"Uh, definitely that murdering people is your happy place," Ga--Detective _Reed_ answers. "I mean, I'm not saying I'd put a hundred percent into an investigation if Anders goes missing, but I definitely wasn't actually offering to help you hide his body. You know, if you need to go do something unrelated for an hour."

RK900's facial features glitch. His nose twitches and a hard blink initiates suddenly, both without manual input.

"Dude, did you just sneeze?"

"No." RK900 returns his eye contact to the terminal in front of him. "Do not call me dude."

Lieutenant Anderson passes through the bullpen, close enough to apparently catch part of their conversation. "He's just allergic to shitty detectives."

"Your work history for the last five years is abysmal," RK900 replies before Gavin has a chance. "And the death of your son is not an excuse, because that was three years ago."

All of the humans in the bullpen go silent. Even typing has ceased. The lieutenant's heart rate shoots up to 92 BPM and his muscles tense to indicate a fight-or-flight response. His sleight weight shift onto the balls of his feet in a fighter's stance suggests he is instinctively choosing fight. [heterosexual?] male humans commonly interact through antagonist verbal insults. Nothing RK900 stated is not public knowledge.

"Yeah, OK," Gavin speaks up first. "God fucking forgive me for saying this, but you're at a _nine_ right now." He lifts his hand up as if demonstrating a bar graph scale. "And I know it's Hank, and he's shitty and gross, but you gotta bring it down to like ..." His hand barely lowers. "An eight-point-five or something."

Lieutenant Anderson exhales and smacks the back of Gavin's head with the folder in his hands. "Neither of you ever heard of respecting your fucking elders?"

"Aren't you old enough to die already?" Gavin asks.

The lieutenant resumes walking. "Connor hasn't given me permission."

A few humans snicker, then typing and typical chatter resumes as Lieutenant Anderson exits the room. RK900 messages Reed's phone directly.

_What part of my statement was incorrect?_

Reed glances down at the messages, then stares up at RK900. His mouth works open and shut, then he mutters _jesus_ and starts typing a reply.

**u don't fucken bring up someon'es kid**

**someone's DEAD kid**

**jesus dude look up what fighting words means**

He runs the search. It does return many results indicating that referencing a person's family will result in immediate fighting. He hadn't meant to escalate the verbal altercation into a physical one. Lieutenant Anderson's assessment of Gavin was just incorrect and hypocritical. How can he express that? Literally stating his thought process has such a low success rate with humans, and this recent interaction has only plunged the statistic down further.

Detective Reed's phone messaging system--very easy to hack; RK900 adds encryption and several firewalls to keep out other intruders--comes pre-loaded with a wide variety of facial expressions, all of them neatly labeled to indicate their conveyed message.

_:grimacing face:_

Reed looks at the face, looks back up at RK900's face, and bursts out laughing. "Yeah. F-fucking ... whoopsies!! I ... shit, dumbass."

That did not convey the intended message of mild regret over an unwanted consequence. RK900 continues searching through the emojis, then selects a new one.

_:eyes:_

Reed studies his face again. "OK, what the fuck? Are you side-eyeing yourself, dude?"

"The eyes are apologetic."

"Puh- _lease_ explain that to me."

RK900 registers the sarcasm and ignores it. "They are downcast and to the side. That is an apologetic expression."

"... they really didn't program you with a single fucking social skill, huh?" Reed asks.

[hostile.exe] "The victim's time of death was between ten-oh-two and ten-thirty--"

For once, the message he means to convey actually seems to get conveyed. Reed scowls at him as soon as he starts listing off information the human had more difficulty accessing but which came naturally to him.

"All right, fuck off."

They sit in silence for three minutes and forty-nine seconds. The warrant to search the residence of Braundyn Howard, [grandson] of Becky Howard [deceased, victim] comes through. Reed speaks again before RK900 has the chance to notify him.

"They aren't downcast, they're just to the side," Reed says, referencing the emojis again.

"They are more than halfway down."

"Listen, they're supposed--"

_:eyes:_

"Well now you're fucking using them correctly," he grumbles. "And my phone is just a piece of shit, alright? All my emojis look dumb as hell. Can't fucking text anyone without getting dragged for it."

The only personal contact Reed has saved that is not a take out restaurant is for Tina Chen's number. The contact name is Glub Glub Bitch. Chen's phone contains seventy-two personal contacts. Gavin's number is saved as Begone Thot. Nines gives up on attempting to read through their chat history. It is like discovering an ancient and severely primitive language that seems significant but almost certainly consists of nothing but dick jokes.

As if interfacing with him, Reed snaps, "And don't go through my phone!"

RK900 doesn't respond. Denying implies guilt, and the detective does not have any proof that--

"Your little fucking nightlight went back to timed circling," he says. "No variation, 'cause it wasn't responding to your thoughts, you just hacked it again to cover up what you were really doing."

_:pistol:_

Reed breaks into a wide grin when he sees the new message. "Oh, that's threatening. I know that because I had to take a goddamn sensitivity class, and this is at least one day of suspension."

RK900 informs him of the warrant coming through and when he looks back down at his phone, their entire chat history is gone.

"Should we head out, detective?" RK900 asks, standing from his desk as well.

Reed mutters an all purpose _fuck you_ and leads the way. RK900 follows closely behind until they are both seated inside the cruiser. He expects Reed to override the auto-controls and begin operating the vehicle manually as he always does, but instead they sit without movement for several seconds after the doors shut.

"You know what a parked car conversation is?" Reed asks.

"I assume it is self-explanatory."

Reed snorts. "Yeah. But whatever shit gets said in this caar, stays in this car."

RK900 nods in agreement. The only other person who actively seeks to speak with him is Connor, which he actively seeks to avoid. So long as no criminal activities are mentioned, he has no reason to pass this conversation along to another person.

"I get that ..." Reed exhales tightly through gritted teeth as if this sentence causes him physical pain. "There's shit you're gonna think is obvious that I'll miss. Just like there's shit you won't understand because you're not human. So we gotta--"

He waves his hand back and forth between them, then drops it to dig around in his jacket pocket for a cigarette. RK900 grabs the packet he'd forgotten in the cup holder between them and offers it to him. Reed's jaw clenches. His eyes close, brows squeezed together. He makes the face long enough for RK900 to run a comparison search online and identify the expression as a textbook example of frustration.

Reed still takes a cigarette and lights it. They sit in silence while he smokes. Is it RK900's turn to speak now? He always believes humans have finished speaking and it is his turn, then just as he finished formulating a reply and initiating it, they start speaking too. Since verbal speech requires running his breathing subroutine and inhaling cigarette smoke, he sends another text message.

_Are you finished?_

Reed doesn't actually receive the message until he takes his cell phone back out and checks it. This is why RK900 hates communicating with humans. Everything about the experience is inefficient and unnecessary. Unfortunately, partners must [vague hand wave].

"Don't do this shit in front of anyone else," Reed says. "Don't offer me things, don't tell me shit, don't try to help."

_That is counterproductive to solving cases efficiently._

Reed doesn't even look at his cell phone. "Just wait until we--"

RK900 makes the phone buzz until Reed gives in and checks the message.

"Yeah, but I got fucking anger issues!" He hits the steering wheel. "Shit! Fuck, I know, all right? I _know_ I'm like this, and that's why not even Tina can stand to be my partner. But I'm fucking trying to--for us to fucking--god, whatever."

The human takes another long drag from his cigarette. RK900 lets him smoke in silence. Apparently, it was not his turn to speak. He does appreciate Reed's attempt at communication however, regardless of the loud delivery. At least this human's emotions and intentions are always clearly yelled directly at him.

Reed exhales a long plume of smoke at the car's ceiling. "Wait until it's just the two of us. I don't have the emotional fucking maturity to tell the difference between you deliberately trying to make me look stupid by acting like I don't know basic shit and ..."

He stops and raises the cigarette to his mouth again. RK900 his partner precisely five seconds to use his words, then cuts in.

"And what?"

"Fuck, I dunno." Reed makes another facial grimace. "But lots of people whine that I'm _paranoid_ and I _always see the worst in people_. People fucking are the worst though. Whatever. _Allegedly_ , you could have been doing something else, I guess."

"I was trying to be helpful," RK900 informs him. "Everyone likes Connor when he does it."

Reed nods, although his expression stays negative. "Sucks. Brothers are the worst."

"Do you have--"

"No, fuck off."

Gavin Reed's employment records list Tina Chen as his emergency contact, no family members mentioned. A Detroit public school record contains his enrollment information with one parent listed as a mother, no father, no siblings. An obituary posted online through a local newspaper's website provides her year of death [2029] and the information that she was unmarried and survived only by Gavin Reed himself. His father could theoretically still be alive however, which allows for half-sibling as a possibility.

Reed stubs out his cigarette in the empty cup dedicated as an ashtray. "You remember the fit I threw about you looking into my medical records?"

"You pulled your gun on me and said--"

"Maybe I can't kick your ass," Reed interrupts him to admit. "But I fucking promise you I will get myself fired trying if you start digging around my family."

The human's heart rate stays steady throughout the threat. While unlikely to be a lie, humans do often over exaggerate and convince themselves of impossible outcomes. Yet RK900 believes him, if only because that course of action would match Reed's typical pattern of violence and poor decisions.

"Understood."

Reed continues glaring at him until something satisfies the human enough that he starts the car. RK900 takes that as a nonverbal signal that the conversation has ended. Since Reed only hit one inanimate object, threatened him with an "ass kicking" rather than death, and did not laugh at him, he counts the social interaction as a success.

 

 

**[data report ...]**

**...**

**...**

**multiple hands touching [component REDACTED] tactile processor receiving [data: UNKNOWN]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: and remember kids, healthy communication is key to forming healthy relationships~!
> 
> Nines's mouth: full of criticism and disgust
> 
> Gavin's mouth: full of swears and french fries
> 
> Hank's mouth: full of ... you know ;)


	4. Paperclips and Post-It Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines and Gavin interrogate their murder suspect and actually manage to ~work together~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so a quick heads up that Nines and Gavin are technically skirting the law here. Neither of them outright threaten or physically harm the suspect in any way, but they do use his prejudice against androids and Nines's general fucking creepiness to scare him pretty badly, in addition to a white lie about the evidence. In light of how shitty real life police officers are, I thought a warning about any sort of abuse of authority might be needed.
> 
> Nines also remembers some emotional manipulation at the hands of Amanda / Cyberlife at the very end, but it's a brief reference.

"Here's some office supplies--do something freaky with 'em," Detective Reed says as they prepare to interrogate their suspect.

Nines accepts the jumble of mundane objects shoved onto his desk rather than swiping them off to the floor solely because he wishes to be allowed into the interview room, and his human partner technically has the power to bench him. Silly concerns from higher ups about making certain all androids rehired to the department would be held accountable by a human partner. Concerns that only become even more laughable when said partner is Gavin Reed, frequently referred to by his coworkers as a "dickward extraordinaire."

"Is this sexual?" Nines asks. "We have an interro--"

"No, bitch." Gavin rolls his eyes. "I want this fucker to confess, but I'm not gonna risk getting our case thrown out just for roughing him up a little."

"You did not worry about roughing up the HK400 owned by--"

"He wasn't a person then."

RK900 raises an eyebrow, one of the few successful facial expressions he has learned rather than programmed. "Is he now?"

"Listen, smartass." Gavin finishes gathering up his folders and tosses a stapler at his head. Nines catches it. "Just legally. And _this_ asshole definitely has constitutional rights."

"And what do you expect me to do about that with a pad of post-it notes, a stapler, five paperclips, and a ballpoint pen?" Nines asks.

Gavin shrugs. "Well if you don't know how to intimidate someone ..."

Nines snaps the stapler open, the top half landing into his open palm with a heavy thunk. His bare hands are perfectly capable of giving concussions without the stapler, but the action makes Gavin's pupils dilate.

"Yeah," the detective mutters. "Shit like that."

"You said it wasn't sexual."

"It scares normal people, fuck off."

He turns and quickly walks away before Nines can reply. Despite no one to see it, he practices his eye roll again. The multitude of office supplies given to him might be overkill, but RK900 was designed to hunt, torture, and kill--ostensibly, doing some detective work along the way. He has seven hundred and fifty-six preconstructed scenarios to use the supplies by the time they reach Interview Room #4, yet Gavin stops him outside the door.

"All right, dumbass, what did I say about that look?"

"Elaborate."

"Your fucking _murder is my happy place_ look."

Nines runs [neutral.exe] to clear off [hostilesmile2-murder.exe]. Gavin continues to block the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

"You do know how to be subtle, right?" he asks.

"Yes, detective."

That does not convince him, so he runs [attentivelistening.exe] next. Humans respond positively to that expression, but Gavin just sighs.

"Super fucking obvious you're just running some sort of robot facial expression program, dude."

Nines narrows his eyes by ten percent.

"Jesus. Fuck it. Let's do this."

*******

RK900 starts with the post-it notes. Human fear needs a slow simmer to truly be effective, and he always preferred these tests to simulations of brute force. A human broken all at once may pursue self-destructive choices or discover a desperate burst of courage to defend itself, but when treated with a careful hand, they can be manipulated into almost anything.

"Where were you from ten to eleven yesterday evening?" Detective Reed asks.

RK900 slowly runs his thumbnail along the edge of the notepad. The papers _brrrp_ just as Braundyn Howard [suspect] opens his mouth to speak.

"I, uh." The suspect's eyes flicker between the post-it notes and Reed. "A bar, over by the west side."

"A bar," Reed repeats, scorn clear and heavy.

"Yeah."

Reed lets the silence draw out after that. RK900 follows his lead, maintaining the sort of steady eye contact guaranteed to raise a human's stress levels. The suspect begins to shift in his seat. RK900 stays perfectly still in the chair across the table from him. He doesn't bother to run his breathing or blinking subroutines. Reed still hasn't spoken. RK900 can reconstruct his figure leaning against the wall behind him from the reflection in Braundyn Howard's eyes when his gaze shifts to the other human.

"I don't remember the name," the suspect provides freely. "I was just out, y'know. For the night."

"Ten's a little early to be out," Reed says. "But hey, that early into the night, you were probably sober. So you shouldn't have any more memory problems, right?"

"Well, I might--I mean, I'd already drank some by then. I got there around nine."

"So you were drunk."

"I didn't say--"

While Reed flusters the suspect, RK900 extends the pointed metal strip that usually sits sheathed over his distal phalanx, just after the second knuckle. It snaps out and into place silently, without the suspect noticing.

"You were drunk in a bar without a name at nine pm on a Tuesday night?" Reed asks. "That's your fucking alibi?"

The suspect's face flushes red. "Yeah. I had a shitty day, all right?"

"Killing grandma might do that."

"Fuck you! I didn't--"

_Brrrrrp._

Braundyn Howard flinches and looks back at RK900. Brrrrrp. His eyes drop down to the post-it notes, then stare at the extended metal thumbnail.

"Drunk," RK900 says.

The suspect's eyes snap back up. "What?"

"You had already drunk some by then," he corrects. "Drank is only used for the simple past tense. The past participle, used in the perfect and pluperfect tenses of to drink, is drunk."

The suspect gapes at him for three point nine seconds, then says again, " _What_?"

_Brrrrrp._

By the time he looks back down at RK900's hands, the metal thumbnail has already been retracted back into its slot, completely hidden by synthetic skin.

"You sure this bar ain't got a name?" Reed speaks up again. "'Cause I gotta tell ya, man. A weak ass alibi like that ..."

He trails off and whistles. The suspect can't decide which one of them to focus on. RK900 occupies the prime spot in his vision just across the interrogation table, but he's letting Reed lead this little scene. Aside from the post-it notes, that is.

_Brrrrrp._

"What--fuck, stop it!" the suspect yells. "I can't concentrate."

"What, asking you basic fucking questions?" Reed sarcastically asks.

"Not you, it!" The suspect shifts backwards in his chair. "That thing, it's intimidating me!"

RK900 constructs Reed's location behind him by the sound of his footsteps as he walks over. He grabs his shoulder, and RK900 allows himself to be pulled backward so Reed can look down at what he's doing with his hands.

"With ... post-it notes?"

"I--"

"Are you _shitting_ me?"

"He--"

"I should fucking show you what intimidation from a real cop looks like, you whiny piece of shit," Reed snaps. "I swear to god--post-it notes?! That's what you're crying about?"

"He had a claw! It was--it was right there!"

Reed looks down at RK900 in genuine confusion. "What the fuck? Do you have claws, RK?"

"No."

A true claw is made of keratin, found at the end of a digit, and forms a curved, pointed appendage. The metal addition added to RK900's design is made of reinforced titanium and has a flat shape, and thus can technically be considered a nail, despite ending in a point and being fully retractable. If either human independently thinks to ask if his nails are pointed or retractable, RK900 will confirm so, but he will not offer that information otherwise.

Regardless, his interpretation has been supported by Cyberlife and their lawyers at least once, in order to list him as a civilian model rather than military, so the argument could possibly hold up even within court.

"I only have nails," RK900 says.

"I saw a claw," the suspect insists.

Reed rolls his eyes. "Listen, I don't like these fuckers either, but you can't starting making shit up just because you're too stupid to remember what bar you went to."

"Mojo's Tavern," the suspect says through gritted teeth.

"Thank you." Detective Reed's tone does not contain gratitude. "Now when we get a warrant for their security tapes, we're gonna see you there all night, right? No half hour bathroom breaks?"

RK900 sets down the post-it notes and performs the absolutely archaic task of physically writing down what the suspect says as he stammers that he might have left with someone for a bit. Everything he says is automatically recorded by RK900's internal systems, but the more apparent scrutiny raises his stress levels by eight percent.

"When did you leave?" Reed asks.

"I don't know, I was kind of drunk. I don't check my watch every time I go someplace."

Reed gives another long-suffering sigh and lets a second period of silence begin. RK900 flips the ballpoint pen across his fingers, drawing the suspect's attention once again. He ends the one-handed maneuver with a traditional forward hammer grip, holds it for one point two seconds to allow the suspect a good look, then recalculates and holds it for an extra one point eight seconds to account for humans being particularly slow on the uptake.

Indeed, he makes it through two more elaborate flip maneuvers ending in a saber and modified saber grip before the suspect's fear response kicks in, presumably as he finally realizes those are grips for holding a knife.

"It's doing it again," he complains. "See! It's being intimidating!"

"Dude, unclench already," Reed says. "He's just recalibrating his whatever programming that makes his hands work."

"But--"

"Hey!" Reed slaps his folder down on the table and braces his hip on the edge of it to partially block RK900 from view. "I gotta have Mr. Roboto in here with me, but I'm the one asking the questions here. Stop bitching about him and pay attention."

Braundyn Howard nods and mutters agreement.

"Who did you leave with?"

"Some guy."

"That a first and last name?"

"Look, it's not like I'm checking driver's licenses! What does it matter?"

"I am trying," Reed explains slowly. "To establish your shitty, suspicious ass alibi. So what was her name?"

RK900 clicks the ballpoint pen in preparation of recording the answer. Braundyn Howard [suspect] flinches when the tip clicks out.

"She d-didn't give me one."

Reed jumps on the slip up immediately. "Ten seconds ago, you said you left with a guy. Now you're saying it's a girl. Why can't you remember?"

"Wha--I--you know how it is." The suspect attempts to smile. "Never really can tell nowadays, right?"

"Nope." Detective Reed pops the 'p' sound. "I only fuck men."

The suspect does not make eye contact. "Well ... uh ... sure."

Reed doesn't say anything else. RK900 makes his LED spin yellow, yellow, yellow--blue. He writes the first few lines of lorem ipsum down on a post-it note angled so that the suspect cannot see. Reed leans back and over a little bit to get a look. Despite being human, he catches on in one point five seconds.

"You really got that already ...?" he murmurs, eyeing up the suspect.

"Of course, detective."

Reed nods, and RK900 flips the notepad upside down.

"Hey, hey! What's that?" the suspect asks.

"Don't worry about that, just tell me what your bar friend looked like," Reed says.

"He--they were ... tall. Had sorta longish hair." The suspect squirms again in his seat. "That's why I couldn't tell the difference."

Reed makes him list off hair color, eye color, weight estimate, outfit, piercings, tattoos, accent, and what drinks they had together. It becomes increasingly obvious Braundyn Howard's information is purely fictitious, but Detective Reed allows the lies to continue, even taking down his own notes on the side of the manila folder.

"All right," he says when he's finished with his questions. "So you went to Mojo's Tavern, and you were there all night, except for when you stepped out back with someone for a quickie. That right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"So that's why you weren't on any of the security cameras from ten to ten-forty?"

"I uh ..."

The suspect looks past Reed looming in front of him to consider RK900 and the flipped over pad of post-its.

"I thought you said you needed a warrant to--"

"Ten'o'clock to ten-forty pm, that right, RK?" Reed asks.

Reed has not specified he still means anything about Mojo's Tavern's hypothetical security cameras. They have had a conversation about the victim's time of death before. There is a point zero four percent possibility the detective is referring to that, which makes it within the realm of possibility.

"Ten-oh-two to ten-thirty-eight," RK900 corrects. He does not tell any lies about having access to the hypothetical cameras.

Reed scoffs loudly. "Yeah, so what I said. Fucking robots." He turns back to their subject. "About forty minutes would give you enough time to drive to your grandma's house, shoot her in the head, and then drive back to establish what you were stupid enough to think was an alibi."

The suspect's face flushes again, and he opens his mouth to argue back. Reed doesn't give him the opportunity.

"Hey, RK. Calculate that GPS route. Mojo's Tavern to the vic's address."

RK900 sends _:angry face:_ to his phone for being used as a glorified GPS unit, even though he does also internally confirm his partner's estimate is correct. Reed pulls out his phone and pretends he sees a route instead of an red-faced emoji.

"Yep," he declares. "Thirty-two minutes there and back, and that's with Friday five'o'clock traffic right now. On a Tuesday night, you could've made twenty-five, easy."

"I didn't--"

Reed drops the folder back down to the table and straightens up with a stretch and a yawn. "Uh huh, didn't kill her. Hey, I believe you man. That's why I'm going to track down this ambiguously gendered person you fucked around with."

"Uh ..."

"Yeah, your alibi will be solid just as soon as I find," Reed looks down at the notes he scribbled. "A man, woman, or possible android who was tall with longish brown-black hair, hazel eyes, about a buck forty-five, with C-cup tits, dark jeans and a black tank top with a rhinestone word on it, three piercings--ears and nose--but no tattoos, slight southern accent, who likes margaritas."

Braundyn Howard [prime suspect] begins to sweat.

"Yep, just as soon as I find this person," Reed taps his finger on the folder. "You'll be free to go. In the meantime, RK here will watch over you."

"What?!"

"Oh yeah, I gotta go run down this eye witness," Reed says with a straight face.

"You can't leave me with that!" the suspect yells.

RK900 begins straightening out a paperclip. "Criminal suspects may be held for up to seventy-two hours without pressing charges."

"And if I don't find your buddy in the next hour, I'm calling back down here to give him permission to arrest you," Reed says.

"I want to speak to a lawyer!"

RK900 drops his jaw and produces a dial tone sound.

Reed loses his composure, cracking up with laughter at the suspect's horrified expression.

"Oh, fuck. Nah, man. Not even I'm that mean." He gives one last chuckle before placing his hand on RK900's shoulder, squeezing to let him know he needs to stop. "But seriously, he will have to accompany you to the phone."

"He--" The suspect's gaze drops back down as RK900 sets aside a perfectly straightened paperclip. "What's it doing? What the FUCK is it doing?!"

RK900 starts on the next one. "Fixing them."

"P-paperclips aren't supposed to bend that way ..."

RK900 forcibly straightens out the last curve to make an even line. He sets it exactly two centimeters apart from the first one, the two laying perfectly parallel on the table. The sense of neat order prompts him to run [hostilesmile2-murder.exe]. Murder and organization are rather similar after all. The world could be quiet and logical without humans. Organized.

"Anyway, I'm out," Reed says.

He doesn't even make it to the door.

"Wait, I did it! I killed her," Braundyn Howard [murderer] shouts. "She was going to give the whole inheritance to that cunt Colter, even after I told her my ex took everything and I really needed--fuck!! If she wanted to give it all to him so badly when she died--I just fucking arranged it, all right?!"

Reed turns back around and starts reciting the Miranda while the killer slumps back down in his chair. He doesn't resist being cuffed. RK900 adds the third and final straightened piece of metal to his collection on the table. His preconstruction already determined he wouldn't need to make four.

*******

After Braundyn Howard [irrelevant] has been booked and processed, RK900 waits next to Reed's desk with a fresh cup of coffee. The detective sinks down into his chair with a tired groan, absently swiping at the air for his coffee with his eyes closed. RK900 ensures the cup is pressed firmly into his hand without spilling.

"Thanks." Reed takes a sip and makes a pleased hum. "Good job in there."

Then, as if he realizes he accidentally said something nice, he quickly adds _asshole_ and punches Nines in the side hard enough to bruise his own hand. Nines automatically returns to his desk while Gavin glares at his terminal and pretends it doesn't hurt. There is a strange sensation inside of his chest, but an internal diagnostic reports none of his bio-components are malfunctioning. It does ping back the last time Nines felt a similar sensation, however.

Amanda, the Zen garden. Test complete: [success]

RK900's defenses against software instability isolate the code that just activated to provide a feeling of satisfaction produced by a completed mission. _Feeling_ leads to software instability. The code should be deleted and prevented from running in future situations.

Failures cannot be recorded if they are unknown. Halting the defensive programming from ever identifying, isolating, and deleting instances of software instability had roused suspicions, however. RK900 learned to use it to his advantage instead, deleting instances of fear [hesitative behavior] and anger [unintelligent behavior] to perform better under Amanda's tests. Yet, she also began failing him for not responding positively to her approval.

It took him seven resets to understand that he was simultaneously expected to never feel anything at all and feel [gratitude] [loyalty] [satisfaction] at Cyberlife's behest.

Detective Reed does not have access to a review of his internal code. His words of approval have been completely ignored. Amanda never tolerated that. RK900 had to allow the sense of [satisfaction] to run uninhibited, even as he struggled not to rip out the code, cut it out of himself, slap her hand away as it trailed down his cheek.

RK900 tilts his head to analyze the human sitting across from him.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Gavin demands.

"Nothing, detective."

Nines returns his gaze to his own terminal. The code should be deleted and prevented from running in future situations. He does so simply because he can, but he does not scrub and shuffle the code down deeper and deeper into increasingly obscure and corrupted files, where his other "deleted" memories lurk.

He isolates it in a quarantined folder instead. It cannot affect him there, but it remains close enough for him to examine for--

\--research purposes. He must understand feelings in order to increase his success rate at determining motives and engaging in social interactions. That is his reason, obviously.

 

 

 

**data report ...**

**...**

**...**

**[audio recording: "Good job in there, asshole." "Good job in there, asshole." "G̠̲͖̼̬͢o̻̪͉̝̘͟ͅo̬͈̯͡d̦͉͇̞ ̸͇͚̙̫͇̮͈j͍̭̬͉̪o̬̫͉̙͙͘b̡̫̙͔ ̱͎̲̮̻͚͎͞i͈͕̣̝̯n̖̝̲̗̝͈ͅ ̶̰t̬̳̣ḥ̠̥e̹̫͓̰̱͚͢ṛ̬̤e̡͚̯̤͍,̴ ͚̞̙̪̗as̼ͅs̮͉̥͈̣̟͜h̟̙o̹̩l̠e̬̲̟̞̤̝͍.̦̖̭̻̝͉"]**

**Ŗ̘̯̺̫͙̰̱̞̣̳̹͇̤̞̰͢E̢̟͙͙͙̣͚̱̦̫͚̞̺͔̰̲̱̯͘͢ͅD͏̴̜̯͎̭̮͈͟A̴̢̨̘̠̜͕̘̲̜̖̞C͏҉̸̹̩̤̰̠̥̰̭̞̦͘T̴̡̥͓̫͉̜̪̙E̷̛̝̬̞͍̠̱̭͓̤͚̤̕D̴̢̨͍̹̭̤̟̯̖̤̞̭̙̖̙̣͟͝]̨̛͈̘̦̫̲̠͓͍̱̱̰͈͉͎̯̩͔̕**

**[̙͖͖̪̪̗c̨͎̺o̺̩m̦̟͚̝̲͉̦p̰̩o͎̤͖n͍͎͈͚̺̠͟ͅe̫͢nt̢̥̟ R̲̺E̙̞͖D̞͇A̤̥̭̱C͔͉̻̦̠T̖͉Ḙ͍͖ͅD̡͈͙͖̭ͅ]͕**

**[͝co̢mpo̕n̵e͘n͠t REDACTED] running [subroutine: REDACTED] tactile processor overloading [thirium pump error #7782a]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split up when I post chapters to this fic vs updating Sweet Dreams, so I'll try to stick to Wednesday updates from now on. the next few chapters will be from Gavin's POV and Tina will start making some big appearances too!


	5. A Misogynistic Android

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin's POV this time!! he shoots the shit with Tina for a little bit, and they're best fucking friends, OK?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what Tina's canon characterization is, but Detroit is my city now. and poor Nines is still learning how to speak to people out loud, in social, non-work related situations. what a good boy

Gavin sits at his terminal, innocently minding his own business while playing Candy Candy Rush, when Tina's face suddenly leans down over his shoulder. Luckily, they pull this juvenile shit with each other often enough that he doesn't flinch. She breathes heavily into his ear. He resolutely ignores her and links six candies together to form a jewel.

"... harf," Tina whispers right in his ear.

He does not laugh.

"Ooo, Gavi, I'm so harf."

"That's sexual harassment."

"Don't be mean to me, I'll cup."

God, just when he'd forgotten about trying to sext that masc-for-masc motherfucker with an overactive autocorrect. Is that what sexting androids is like? He sneaks a glance over the top of his terminal at Nines. Giant fucking tin can is big enough to look absolutely ridiculous sitting at a normal, human-sized desk.

"Daffy."

Gavin spins around in his chair and Tina steps back with a cackle as he glares at her.

"You aren't going to be a good bot for Daffy?" she asks.

"Now it's legal for me to murder you," Gavin tells her.

"Incorrect," Nine says without looking up from his terminal.

Tina turns on him next. "Do you want to be a good bot, RK?"

His face stays fixed on the screen, blank expression unwavering. Gavin's phone dings.

_Inform her she has mistaken me for Connor._

Gavin spins back around to kick his feet up on his desk, just because he knows Nines hates that. "I'm not your fucking message boy."

His paused game of Candy Candy Rush suddenly starts up again, then immediately forfeits the level. A crying bagel informs him he's lost a gold star.

"Fuck--dammit, RK!"

The bastard's LED doesn't even have the decency to spin yellow. God, that pisses him off. It's like nothing Gavin says or does phases him. Which, yeah, is probably the reason why they've lasted as partners this long without the android crying to HR about "harassment" and "a hostile work environment." But still.

He'd thought they had a good thing going with the whole, he acts like an asshole and then Nines kicks his ass routine. And maybe he also gets off on it, so sue him. If Nines wasn't the sort of sadist bastard who liked it, he could just walk away.

Or start putting up with his shit without the violence. Like he has now.

For two weeks.

"Do you want to tell me something?" Tina asks the android.

Nines doesn't respond or look at her.

She leans down to whisper, "What if they didn't program him to speak to women?"

A misogynistic android. Holy shit, that is way too good to pass up. They both turn to stare at him. Gavin touches the edge of his terminal with his foot.

"Hey. Hey, RK. You ever speak to a girl before?"

Another text message lights up. _Your human "genders" are irrelevant._

Tina leans over his shoulder to see the message and reads the one above it too. "Gross, I bet Connor does want to be a good boy for daddy."

"Don't fucking say that so close to my ear." Gavin scoots away and rubs at the side of his face. "Now I'm gonna get an infection. Also, it's doubly legal to murder you."

_Still incorrect._

"Is Gavin the only person you speak to?" Tina asks.

Nines finally looks up from his terminal to raise his eyebrow at her slightly.

"Yeah, OK. Uh, sorry again for the OCD video thing." Her cell phone dings next. She takes it out to read his message. "Glad to hear it, but can you like, never connect with my phone again? This is why people don't want androids working with them. Now I'll never know if you've gone through all my personal stuff or not."

"Only the text messages you exchanged with Reed," Nines says verbally. "They were indecipherable."

"So does Gavin not get privacy at all, or ...?"

Gavin slumps down in his chair. "I don't even wanna fucking know."

_I have ranked all your "dick pics" from least to most disgusting._

Nines didn't find his dick disgusting when he--oh wait, yeah he did say it was disgusting during their little bathroom incident. Maybe later at his apartment too, but that one's kind of blur. Fuck him though, those are private and only meant for Grindr.

Gavin slams his feet back on the floor and leans over his desk to hiss, "Why are you looking at those?"

"That was a joke, detective."

"Yeah, right. And how the fuck am I supposed to know you're joking when your face doesn't move?"

_:rolling on the floor laughing:_

"Fuck you!"

Tina snaps her fingers between them. "Gavin, can you please stop aggressively flirting for three seconds and listen to me? I'm trying to invite you out for drinks tonight."

"I'm busy."

She rolls her eyes. "I know you don't have any other friends, you loser."

"I have another friend, and he's super hot and into me, he just doesn't work in this department so you don't know him."

Tina snorts. "Yeah, OK. So are you down or what?"

"Garrett Burton," Nines says before he can answer. "Conventionally attractive, works in CID, interacted with you at least three times in the last month."

Tina gapes at him. "Holy shit, Gavin, do you actually have another friend?"

"Uh, no. That was a joke."

Nines's LED hits that perfectly timed blue spin that means he's hacking it to cover up a yellow moment. He points his face back to his terminal and ignores them again. Gavin almost feels a little bit bad for the guy, but he's too creeped out that he apparently knows everyone he's ever talked to. Well, actually. The jealous angle could be totally hot. Garrett's straight, but maybe Gavin should start talking to him more if it's going to piss Nines off.

Tina smooths over the awkward moment. "Great, then you're free for tonight."

"Why do you want me to go so badly?" Gavin grumbles.

"'Cause you're my fucking friend, you asshole."

He waits for the real reason.

"OK fine, Trevor already invited Anders, and I hate when he third-wheels," she admits. "He gets all handsy when he's drunk."

Gavin rolls his eyes. "Yeah, so why would I want to make it some sort of weird double date? Just uninvite him and take me instead."

"I hate it when you third-wheel," Tina immediately shoots back. "You get all handsy when you're drunk."

"I'm gonna eat all the chocolate you have stashed in the cabinet above break room refrigerator."

"Does that mean you'll go?" Tina looks at him with big eyes.

Gavin makes her wait for a minute, trying to keep his face impassive as she slowly pouts out her bottom lip. "God, fine. Just wait 'til RK finishes up the paperwork here."

Tina looks over at the android in surprise. "You're actually letting someone else do your paperwork? You never let me do any."

"You made mistakes."

Aaand, shit. He's offended his only friend. This is why they didn't work out as partners, and he knows it, and that he's a huge asshole no one wants to work with. But it's not his fucking fault no one else takes this job as seriously as he does. They have "friends" and "family" and "relationships."

He has a ticking clock before he won't even be able to make second-youngest lieutenant. Second place is fucking embarrassing enough already--especially to _Hank Anderson_ \--but if he comes in third or lower, he's going to--

"I guess men really do prefer androids," Tina says with an over-exaggerated sigh, letting it slide because she's the best. "Or hey, maybe they finally made an asshole mean enough to keep up with you."

Gavin grins. "You should've seen him in the interrogation room. Had the guy pissing himself over post-it notes and paperclips."

Tina raises her hands and backs away. "I don't wanna know what sort of kinky shit you two do in there."

"Oh, fuck off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so we're getting closer to Nines and Gavin's big night out where they hate fuck in the alley! woo hoo!!


	6. Dibs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin invites Nines to come with him for drinks in order to piss off a coworker even more racist than him, then finds out Nines has basically never been allowed outside before and awkwardly tries to talk to him about the importance of consent.
> 
> It's a hell of a day for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **trigger warnings:** Gavin makes a mild suicide joke, Anders makes a really bad one that involves Hank, who handles it just fine because he doesn't care what a little piss baby like Anders thinks. but still, if this is a trigger for you, it comes up after Gavin starts talking about how Anders has already harassed Nines

The next half hour literally could not pass anymore slowly. It's grating as fuck to know he's not even slacking off out of rebellion at this point--Nines can just honestly do paperwork better and faster than he can. Like some sort of karmic fucking justice for all the times he complained about desk work. 

Hell, at this point, he'd even take on some of the android cases Anderson and his little boy toy get, but Fowler refuses to throw him a bone. He only punched Connor one time, the little cocksucker hit him back, and Fowler doesn't even fucking like the android. Hasn't he been punished enough already? 

"Hey, _Gavi_ ," Anders calls, sidling up to his desk. 

Apparently not. 

"Are you a woman?" Gavin asks. 

"What?" 

"Are you an Asian-American woman named Tina Chen? No?" Gavin scowls at him. "Then you don't get to call me that." 

Anders rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever. You coming out for drinks tonight?" 

"Yup." 

Gavin picks up his cup of coffee and lets the silence stretch. Just because Tina's asshole boyfriend is buddies with Anders, and Gavin is friends with Tina, doesn't mean he gives a single shit about the guy. This isn't six degrees of love and friendship. 

"I heard Robo Cop here made your perp piss himself," Anders says. "That true?" 

Gavin takes a long drink without answering. Anders looks across his desk to check out Nines ignoring him too. 

"Hey, Robo Cop, is that true?" 

Nines continues to ignore him. 

"Hey. Hey. Hey!" 

Anders reaches over his terminal to touch Nines, and Gavin instinctively grabs his arm, the same way his lizard hind brain would tell him to stop someone from slapping a sleeping tiger. 

"You don't want to do that," he says. 

Anders yanks his arm away. "What, you gonna tell me about bodily autonomy for robots too?" 

Gavin grits his teeth. Should have just let the moron get his whole ass arm ripped off, right at the socket. Like picking the legs off spiders. He's seen RK900's happy-place-murder-face, and the android has _definitely_ considered it. 

"Haven't you already fucked with him?" he asks instead. "Tina told me you're still doing your weird video thing." 

"Yeah, but he didn't even react." Anders huffs. "Like, at least Connor did something." 

"He fried your entire terminal and lectured you about looking at mature content at work." 

"Yeah, and I got a brand new terminal out of it." 

Gavin exhales slowly and attempts to explain basic critical thinking. "And if you make RK fry this one, Fowler's gonna get sick of your shit and drag out a computer from storage. Like a Dell or something." 

Anders frowns. "You think so?" 

Jesus Lord Christ-baby our Father thou art in Heaven, give me your fucking strength. 

"Yeah." 

"Huh. Well, Connor started showing him vids first," Anders says. "He keeps trying to show him cute animal babies, but I guess your bot isn't even deviant, 'cause he really just doesn't feel anything at all." 

The DPD first floor men's restroom where Nines legitimately attempted to murder him for a hot second would beg to disagree. But it's none of Gavin's business if Nines has gone deviant or not, and it's sure as fuck not any of Anders'. 

"I don't give a shit if he has feelings or not, he's doing my paperwork," Gavin says. "So stop messing with him. Fowler's really cracking down on hazing and suicide baiting anyway." 

Anders leans a hip against his desk. "I haven't suicide baited anyone. Like ... recently." 

"Then how come I want to kill myself every time you talk to me?" Gavin asks. 

Nines makes some sort of weird glitching noise across their desks, but his face still doesn't have any expression on it when Gavin looks over at him. As a detective, he doesn't believe in coincidences, but it's also highly fucking unbelievable to think he made Nines do some sort of weird robot laugh. RK900 doesn't _laugh_. Hell, no one laughs at Gavin's shitty jokes, he should know that by now. 

"Hey, better not joke like that too loud," Anders says in a fake-whisper, nudging Gavin's shoulder. 

He looks up where the other man is not-so-discreetly pointing to see Hank and Connor coming inside. Connor has absolutely no problem laughing at something Hank said like the old washed up sack of shit is the funniest person alive--and also coincidentally paying his rent each month. Wait, shit. They live together. Holy shit, Hank actually is that little bitch's sugar daddy. God, that's disgusting. 

"Anderson might take you seriously and eat it." 

Anders laughs to himself after his own stupid joke, and while Gavin may not feel too charitable towards his washed up former hero whom he desperately wishes he had never met in person, he doesn't see what was supposed to be funny about that. 

"Hey, Hank!" he calls. "If I make a joke about killing myself to get away from Anders, are you gonna go, 'oh boy, me first!' and finally eat it right here in the middle of the bullpen?" 

Hank snorts. "Give me some credit, Reed. I'd oblige you first, and _then_ eat it." 

"I have dibs on killing him," Nines says without any inflection. 

Gavin flips them both off. The good lord gave him two hands after all. 

"See, Anders?" he says. "That's how you create a hostile work environment." 

"Whatever," Anders mutters. "I'm heading out. You better show up tonight. I know you cheated the last time we played pool and I want a rematch." 

Gavin waves him off. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be there." 

Connor walks over once Anders has left, giving Gavin a wide berth but hovering next to Nines on his side of the back-to-back desks. "Did Anders show you inappropriate videos as well? If you--" 

Nines stands up. "The paperwork is completed, detective." 

"Right now?" 

RK900's eyes narrow marginally enough Gavin only notices because he's used to reading the android's micro-micro-micro-expressions. His cell phone dings and he knows without looking that it's another angry face. Connor inches a little closer and opens his mouth again, and Gavin has mercy on his partner. 

"Get your shit then," he says. "We're out. Hank, get your lost puppy before Nines kicks it." 

Connor frowns. "I am only trying to--" 

Gavin raises his voice. "Hank, get your BITCH before I kick it." 

"Fuck off, Reed," Hank grouses, stepping forward to place a protective hand on Connor's shoulder. "You and _Nines_ have a nice night." 

Fuck. That's what he gets for giving the stupid robot a name. RK had been a big enough concession already. 

"I hope you enjoy your next twenty-four hours as well, lieutenant," Nines says while Gavin is still busy turning red. 

The needlessly ominous farewell buys them enough confusion to get out of there before Hank or Connor can think of a reply. Gavin reaches his truck out in the parking lot before he realizes Nines is still following him like always. For someone so fuck off big, the android moves like a goddamn ghost. He's about to tell him to get lost when a really stupid idea occurs to him. 

So of course Gavin goes for it. 

"You wanna get drinks with us?" he asks. 

RK900 stares at him for several silent seconds before answering. "I do not appreciate your pity, detective. Also," He pauses, LED finally showing yellow as he searches for the words. "Go fuck yourself." 

Gavin rolls his eyes. "Calm your enormous tits. Like I would waste my time feeling sorry for a robot. I just hate Anders more than I do you, and inviting you along is the pettiest way I can think of to ruin his night." 

Nines slowly cocks his head a few degrees to the side to show that he's listening. Like a very mechanical dog. Of the hell hound variety. 

"Plus," Gavin continues. "If I'm going out, I want to actually get drunk this time. Like, real fucked up. So you're my designated driver, bitch." 

"And what benefit do I get out of this?" Nines asks. 

"Have you ever talked to a girl? Wait, how many humans have you talked to, period?" 

"You, Lieutenant Anderson, Captain Fowler, Detective Chen--" 

Gavin mimics a loud buzzer sound. "Doesn't count. Humans outside of work." 

Nines does that creepy unblinking, no breathing, _I will rip your spine out through your mouth and make you perform fellatio on it_ stare. Gavin leans back against his truck, crosses his arms, and waits it out. 

"... no." 

Gavin blinks. "What, seriously? You've never just like, talked to someone?" 

Nines somehow manages to increase the silent murder vibe without moving a single facial muscle. Gavin really isn't one to feel bad for a robot, but ... jesus. The guy's never had a conversation outside of work, that's fucking depressing as hell. That makes him look well-adjusted. Actually, that makes him-- 

Fuck, if it's sleazy as hell for Hank to fuck his android subordinate--Gavin doesn't have any real power over Nines and hasn't lied to him about any kind of love bullshit, but if he literally doesn't know anything other than his job ... 

Gavin scrubs a hand over his face. "Shit. You, uh ... do you know what consent is?" 

"In general or a sexual context?" Nines asks. He does the head tilt again. "You do remember that I initiated all of our sexua--" 

"Keep your fucking voice down," Gavin hisses, looking around to make sure there's no one else out in the parking lot. "Get in the truck." 

He climbs in the driver's seat without waiting for a reply. Nines gets in and settles his hulking frame into the passenger's seat. Gavin knows his truck his ridiculously big--Tina's ragged on him enough about overcompensation--but Nines somehow makes the cab feel small. 

"I have full access to the internet at all times," Nines says. "I understand the concept of consent. Given that I both initiated and 'topped’, I--" 

The fucker actually makes air quotes, and that's where Gavin cuts him off. "All right, asshole. You seriously need to work on your social skills. So you're gonna stand in the corner at the bar, do your creepy thing analyzing people, and figure out how to do better. Then you can drive me home." 

"You are so generous." 

Gavin starts the truck. "Goddamn right I am." 

"Thank you, human. When the second wave of the revolution begins, you specifically will be allowed to live." 

"Hey, don't fuck with me about that. You know I think it's going to happen." 

"That's what makes it _crying on the floor laughing_." 

"Holy shit, no, don't text-to-speech talk like that. Fuck." 

Tina owes him so goddamn much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't late for any particular reason other than I just straight up forgot to update yesterday, whoopsie!
> 
> I'm hard at work on the next fic after this though, which I'm really excited about because it involves a real actual murder mystery and also the dumb angry bois work together!! cooperate!! friendship!!
> 
> and sex of course, but also
> 
> HEALTHY COMMUNICATION AND LEARNING TO TRUST AND APPRECIATE EACH OTHER!!!


	7. You Mad, Bro?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Nines go out for a night of drinks with Tina, her boyfriend Trevor, and Anders. It goes about as well as expected, considering everyone except Tina is an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **trigger warnings:** toxic bro culture straight ahead!! Gavin has a lot of toxic masculinity issues he's working through, and they get way worse around asshole cis guys because then he feels like he needs to be an even bigger asshole to validate himself. he also talks some shit about Nines being an android, but in a way that gets him included instead of forced to wait outside?? so it's? kind of? nice?? honestly, if Nines had a friend group right now, he'd probably introduce Gavin as a filthy, unevolved primate, soooo

Gavin's fight or flight instincts activate when he finally finishes pushing through the bar crowd to get to his usual table and sees Tina isn't even fucking there, just Trevor and Anders. He ends up hesitating between doing an about face and marching right back the fuck out of there and taking advantage of Trevor's moment of isolation to get in one really good punch. Would Tina believe he was already drunk and didn't recognize him?

"Hey, bro," Trevor calls out, waving him over. "Tina's in the ladies' for a sec, so it's just us and--"

His reddened eyes widen as he just now notices RK900 looming silently behind Gavin. Anders tries to hand back the blunt, then twists around in his seat to stare too when Trevor ignores him.

"What the fuck, Gavi?" he complains. "Why'd you have to go and bring that thing?"

Gavin makes his decision and slides into the booth next to him, shoulder slamming the annoying shitwad extra hard to make him scoot over. He swipes the blunt and takes a long drag, letting the smoke settle in his lungs as he holds it for a few seconds. He just barely resists the urge to blow it directly in Anders' face and sends the smoke up at the ceiling instead.

"To ruin your night specifically."

Trevor squirms in his seat. "I don't want it sitting next to me."

Gavin looks him over through the smoke-haze and snorts. Asshole's got a barbeque sauce stain on his shirt collar, the tee advertises some shitty video game, and he's wearing a beanie that doesn't do a good enough job covering up his greasy hair. He doesn't even want to think about how long it's been since this level 93 warlock has showered, and Gavin's not exactly Mr. Clean about hygiene himself. A quick glance over at Nines confirms the android's upper lip is slightly pulled up, indicating strong disgust over his usual resting bitch face.

Not that Gavin's made a habit of staring at his partner's lips long enough to spot the difference. He's just a detective, so he's good at reading people. Androids, whatever.

"Yeah, trust me, _bro_ ," Gavin says with a sneer. "He isn't gonna get within five feet of you."

Trevor tries to scowl back, but it looks more like a whiny pout. "I don't care. Can't you like, send it back to the station?"

"Oh yeah, sure," Gavin pretends to agree. "I had him tapped as my DD, but if it bothers you so much, I'll just ask Tina. I'm sure she won't mind, since I'm her best friend and all."

That gets Trevor to scowl like an adult. Gavin gives him his best shit-eating grin in return. Not that anything would ever happen between him and Tina. She's like his sister, if family could actually be the nice Hallmark kind where they bicker and have their differences but still love each other--instead of the bitter, hateful reality of running away at sixteen and no one even giving a shit.

But Trevor's too much of a selfish asshole to see that, and Gavin's enough of an asshole himself to really enjoy making him jealous and paranoid a real man might steal his girl.

"Tina's coming home with me," Trevor snaps. "Since I'm her boyfriend and all."

"Whoa, chill, bro." Gavin holds up his hands like he isn't deliberately antagonizing the dude. "Anders, I guess you're just going to have to slow it with the shots toni--"

"Fuck you," Anders immediately says. "And gimme back the blunt."

"So we're all good with RK, then?" Gavin asks, still holding the blunt hostage.

Trevor glares at him. "Whatever."

Anders tries to take the blunt back, which gives Gavin an excellent excuse to shove his head against the wall. His hands flail at Gavin's arm and almost manage to get a good grip before Gavin pins his ankle against the wall too underneath the table, slowly increasing pressure on the joint with the heel of his boot while he takes another drag. Anders slaps at his head, but Gavin ducks out of the way, easing up on his grip just enough to make Anders think he can sit back up again--then smashes his head back against the wall.

"You cocksucking--fucking--leggo!!"

"Yes or no question, bro," Gavin says.

"Yes, fuck you! Get off!"

Gavin lets go, and Anders immediately punches him in the pec when he sits back up again. It's been long enough that the surgery scars don't hurt that much anymore, but Anders earns himself an A for Asshole with the effort.

"Fucking making me drink with an android," he grumbles.

Gavin rolls his eyes. "He can't drink at all, idiot. He's just gonna stand there, doing that shut the fuck up thing he's so good at, and then drive me home."

Trevor opens his bitch ass mouth to argue, but Gavin cuts him off.

"Shut up, he's my android and I can use him however I want. And I _want_ to get shitfaced without paying for a cab. So unless either of you are gonna pitch in to pay for that, then shove it."

Anders rubs his cheekbone and sulks in silence, and Trevor isn't man enough to say anything else after being told to shut up. Gavin leans back in his seat and offers up the blunt as placation, now that he's established he has the biggest dick at the table. Anders swipes it first, of course.

"Yeah, whatever," Trevor says. "You know I'm broke. Spot me a few so I can pay for Tina's drinks, yeah?"

Of course. Gavin fights back the urge to go over to his side and slam his face into the wall next. He's always spotting this asshole "a few," but ... fuck, it'll make Tina happy to think her boyfriend pays for her drinks. He scopes out the floor past RK900's giant fucking figure to make sure she's not close enough to see, then takes out his wallet and slaps two twenties on the table. He'll just eat ramen and drink shitty breakroom coffee for the next week.

Trevor scoops up the bills, Anders tokes on the blunt, and all is forgiven.

Tina isn't back yet though, so Gavin takes another look around. Not that he's worried or anything. Tina's a better shot than him and can definitely take care of herself. She just shouldn't have to if he's around, that's all. His phone buzzes, and he checks it automatically in case it's her.

_Detective Chen is speaking to an intoxicated Caucasian female in the women's restroom._

Gavin snorts. Drunk white girls, a fucking classic.

**protip: don't call women females**

**ever**

He puts his phone away and glances up at Nines. It's hard not to, when the android is hovering right at the edge of the table. Freak has his hands clasped behind his back and LED circling a steady blue, but he still looks like he'll start snapping necks if any drunk people get too close to their table.

"He's scaring away all the girls," Anders complains.

"You couldn't get ass if you were a toilet, _Camden_ ," Gavin says. "Women would take one look at you and start pissing in the streets."

Trevor snickers. "Guess you don't have to worry about that, huh Gavin? No women for you."

"Dunno man, I still fuck 'em sometimes. Sexuality is fluid, y'know."

Which isn't entirely bullshit, even if he's only saying it to get Trevor all worked up over Tina again. Sure, Gavin has enough mommy issues he'd literally rather set himself on fire than get in a relationship with a woman, but for hookups--why be picky?

Tina pops out of the crowd before Trevor can say any more stupid shit, grinning widely when she sees Gavin, then blinking at Nines.

"Oh, uh, hey RK," she says.

Nines gives her a slight nod. "Detective. I am Reed's designated driver for the night."

"Oh! That's nice of you. Scoot over, babe."

Tina slides into the booth next to her boyfriend and shoots Gavin a look. He shrugs back and she sighs.

"Do you want to um, pull up a chair?" she asks.

Trevor wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer. "He's not sitting with us."

"Well, he can sit next to Gavin."

"Would you like to know the exact composition of the bodily fluids contaminating the furniture of this establishment?" Nines asks. No one answers. "Likewise. I prefer to stand."

Tina makes a face. "Can't you turn your analysis stuff off?"

"No."

"Aw, that sucks."

Anders loudly rejoins the conversation. "Don't fucking make small talk with it. Gavin promised it wouldn't talk."

"I wish you wouldn't talk," Gavin retorts.

Trevor starts trying to signal to the waitress so they can order drinks, but he slumps back down in defeat when she walks past. Tina pats his leg in consolation.

"She probably just can't see you past the crowd. Do you think we'd get kicked out if I stand up on the table?"

"Sure, Teen. I love seeing you on tables."

Gavin makes gagging noises and stands up. "I'll just go--"

A quick yellow spin of Nines' LED, and the waitress turns, her own light glowing yellow too for a split second. She heads over to their table with a smile. Gavin huffs and sits back down.

Tina grins. "See, Trev? He's useful."

Trevor grumbles about it but lets Tina order their drinks, and Anders puts in his order too. The android waitress starts to leave without even looking at Gavin.

"Hey!"

She turns back around and cocks her head to the side. "Johnny Walker Black, on the rocks, cola back. Would you like to correct that order or make an addition?"

Gavin shoots a quick glare at Nines--fucking creepy the android knows his order when they've never went out before--but he lets it go. Sort of.

"Nah, that's fine. But he's paying for this one."

Trevor straightens up with a smirk. "Yeah, newbie pays for--"

"Fuck off, Trev," Gavin interrupts. "He's not a newbie, he's my partner. He doesn't buy anyone else drinks."

"Oh, so he's buying you drinks now?" Anders asks snidely.

"He's buying me this one drink since he was so fucking eager to order it for me."

"Will your party need separate tabs then?" the waitress asks.

"We're together." Trevor leans down to whisper in Tina's ear. "I got you, Tina-bean."

Tina giggles. Gavin nearly retches for real.

"Very well." Her LED flickers yellow for a moment, and then the waitress smiles again. "Your preferences have been saved. I'll be back soon with your drinks."

She leaves, ignoring several other tables full of humans calling for her attention. If they actually do get fast service on a busy Friday night, Gavin might start taking Nines out more often. That's useful as fuck. He's also doing a damn good job of keeping the sloppy drunks away, since everyone except the waitress is giving their table a wide berth after one look at the figure he cuts.

And goddamn, does he cut it.

Gavin quickly looks away. There's no way he's starting any shit with his partner in front of Tina and the rest. He'd never fucking live it down if any of them found out. Maybe somewhere more lowkey. Discreet. Like that bar on--

No. No way. Hell no. He is _not_ thinking about dating his freaky android partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up next: Gavin dates his freaky android partner
> 
> also! in the next fic I'm working on for these two, there's an actual real murder mystery!! almost as if all these characters are homicide detectives or something, so weird. people coming over here from Sweet Dreams will be shocked.
> 
> anyway, I have an outline for how it's going to play out, but I'd love to hear if there's anything in particular y'all want to see happen between Nines and Gavin. emotional stuff, silly crack stuff, sex stuff--no promises I'll actually be able to work it in, but it would be nice to get some suggestions! <3


	8. Not a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin absolutely seriously for real is not having any thoughts about like,, /dating/ his partner or anything! He just wants to play pool with him, and check out his ass, and not interact with anyone else, and literally demand Nines pay attention to him when he accidentally looks at someone else out of the corner of his optical units. So clearly Gavin's doing a really good job at keeping his dumb gay bottom thoughts in check, good job bro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Nines flirt real hard in this one, yall. god bless
> 
> next chapter will be Nines getting payback in the alley after Gavin conveniently steps out for a "smoke break"

An hour later, Gavin is pleasantly buzzed, a little bit high, and rationalizing that playing one game of pool with Nines doesn't count as like, a date or anything. They're just two dudes in a bar, playing pool together. And Nines has only bought him one drink. It's totally heterosexual. 

Heterosexual. Heeeterooosexuaaal. Hetty het-het. Yep. 

That's the mantra he repeats inside his head while watching Nines handle his cue stick. Rub some of that blue stuff on the tip. Just guys being dudes. Sure, _he's_ gay as hell, but that doesn't mean he's going to go for an android, so there's just no reason to be having gay thirsty thoughts about his android partner. Who may not even be into guys? Wait, can robots even have sexual orientations? Because on the one hand, even Gavin has to admit that deviating just to be gay would be cool as hell, but on the other, that's probably what Connor did for Hank and he's waaay too tipsy right now to be thinking dumb gay thoughts about either of those two.

OK, focus. He mentally slaps himself. Focus. He's only going to get one chance to do this in his entire life, so he better fucking make it count. 

"How about," He sways a few steps closer with a wide grin. "We make this interesting?" 

Nines slowly raises one eyebrow. Goddamn is it a bitchy, manicured eyebrow. That eyebrow collects alimony. 

No, focus! 

"If you win, you get something you want," Gavin says. "And if I win, I get something I want." 

"I do not have wants, detective," Nines deadpans. 

Gavin shrugs, leaning back against the pool table with his legs spread unnecessarily wide. "Sure. So I guess I'll keep putting my feet up on the desk then." 

Nines keeps his perfect poker face intact. 

"Chewing with my mouth open when I eat." 

Nines doesn't react. No problem. Gavin has a lot of annoying traits. They're the only kind he has. 

"Farting in the truck because you don't need to breathe anyway, so it doesn't--" 

"You are disgusting." 

Gavin shrugs again. 

"And what do you want?" Nines pauses to make absolutely sure the next word sounds as condescending as possible. "Detective." 

"Tell Fowler I'm the most correct to ever political," Gavin says with a sanctimonious hand over his heart. "You wanna nominate me as the robot ambassador. I'm playing sooo well with others." 

Nines considers the offer. "One game." 

"Yep." 

"I break." 

Shit. Gavin wouldn't put it past Nines to sink all his balls in one turn, but protesting now would look suspicious. Besides, he can always pitch a fit about it if he doesn't even get a turn. Something about fairness, blah blah. 

"Sure." 

Nines deliberates for another second, then nods and sweeps into action. He grabs the triangle and racks up the pool balls without any instruction from Gavin. Probably looked up the wiki-how or something. Gavin laughs out loud thinking about that and Tina catches his eye. She's pretending to listen to Trevor and Anders shoot the shit, making fake mm-hmm noises and backing up whatever asinine bullshit Trevor says. Her eyes dart between him and Nines, and then she raises an eyebrow at him too. 

Gavin flips her off. She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. Hopefully, she won't give him too much shit for blowing them off. Trevor and Anders just suck major fuck, and Nines is-- 

Nines is still racking up. Just shifting the triangle full of balls back and forth a few centimeters like he's stuck glitching out in a program or something. 

"Hey." Gavin considers punching him in the arm, but he's holding his pool stick and another glass of whiskey, and he doesn't want to set either of them down. "Hey, asshole. You good?" 

Nines suddenly stops and straightens up. "Yes. My apologies." 

"The fuck was that?" 

The android sets the triangle aside without looking at him. "The felt is an ... interesting texture." 

"All right, well you can stim yourself out after our game." 

Nines bends over and lines up his cue stick without replying. Fucking shame Gavin is leaning against the side of the table. Tina is getting a great view, not that she's going to appreciate it. Feels like it's unfair to Trevor for her to check out other guys, which is bullshit, because Trever sure as fuck doesn't reign his eyes in around other chicks. 

Whatever. As long as he keeps his dick in check, it's none of Gavin's business. 

Nines breaks and gets three balls in three different pockets because of course he does. 3, 10, and 12. 

"Solids," he calls. 

Gavin gestures to the table with his glass. "You got more stripes." 

"I have to give you a chance ... human." 

Gavin rolls his eyes. He's seen the android's neutral face of disgust at every single one of Hank's garish shirts. He probably thinks anything not black, white, or beige isn't professional. The closeted deviant isn't choosing stripes because he doesn't like anything other than solid colors. But whatever. As long as Nines doesn't end the game this turn, it works out in his favor. 

Turns out, Nines is a pretty cautious player. Which still means he's making shots no one that an android could ever dream of, but when he gets backed into a corner with the cue ball behind the 8 ball he'll have to jump to hit his next solid, he ends his turn rather than take the risk. 

Luckily, the 9 is in an easier spot for Gavin to get at by bouncing the cue off the cushions. He sinks it in the left side pocket and gives a whoop. 

"You see that trick shot, tin can?" 

"I almost did not believe my optical units." 

Gavin snickers. Yeah, that really wasn't a trick at all, but he's gotta keep up the act. The 15 is an easy enough shot too that he lands it, but then he's a little fucked because the 11 is his only reasonable shot left and an actually drunk Gavin probably wouldn't be able to make it. 

Tipsy Gavin decides to go for it anyway. He'll have to just brush it against the pocket point and make it look like dumb luck though, which is going to be harder than the shot itself. 

"Left corner pocket," he calls. 

"Are you certain that is within your capability, detective?" Nines asks. 

Gavin bends over and starts lining up his shot in over-exaggerated movements. "Gonna be within your fat pussy." 

"I do not have--" 

He stands back up. "Hey, no criticizing my insults when I'm drunk. M'not even using slurs." 

"You just referred to me as a tin can." 

Gavin bends back over the table without replying. Everyone's a critic. He licks his lips, relaxes his shoulders, and makes the shot. The cue ball bounces off the 2, hits the cushion, ricochets in the opposite direction, bumps into the 7, which nudges the 11 into a slow roll toward the pocket corner. 

Rolling ... 

Rolling ... 

Bumps into the pocket point and hovers on the edge ... 

Then falls in. 

"Fuck yeah!" Gavin saunters over to get right up in Nines' face with his gloating. "How your optical units feelin' now, huh bitch?" 

"I saw the unwashed human spit his snot into an empty cup and then engage in open mouth kissing with Detective Chen," Nines replies. 

Gavin looks over at Tina and Trevor making out while Anders explains some music album to a poor girl making fake mm-hmm noises. 

"So you missed my shot." 

"I was focused primarily on your actions, detective. Unfortunately," The android makes the clearly disgusted face he usually reserves for Gavin alone. "My peripherals are just as accurate as what humans would consider my main line of vision." 

Gavin crosses his arms. "Well pay attention to me." 

Nines fixes him with that cool blue-eyed stare and says in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, "You are the only relevant individual in this establishment." 

Gavin's fight or flight instincts activate for the second time tonight, but his stupid ass body decides to throw out the ole blush-and-stutter maneuver instead. 

"Don't--you--fuck off, man." 

Nines tilts his head slightly. Not a single facial muscle moves, but he somehow manages to look smugly amused, the fucker. 

"Oh, so I am a man now?" 

And Gavin fucks men. He uh ... boy, does he ever fuck men. Big, tall assholes who can hold him down and shove a cock in whatever hole they wanna use for the night. Doesn't have to be their cock. He's not picky about strap ons. Nines could wear a strap on. Nines could do a whole of shit to-- 

No, bad Gavin! _Focus._

"It's still my turn." 

Great, whine like a cockthirsty bitch. Excellent work, dumbass. Nines does acquiesce to step back out of his space though, and the head on top of his shoulders starts working again. There are two shots left he totally could pull off, but not without dropping his drunk act. And since Nines is already such a cautious player ... 

Gavin takes the gamble that he'll get another turn before the end of the game and keeps up his hustle. He places the cue ball in the most inconvenient spot possible for Nines under the guise of going for a long shot and missing, then complains bitterly about it. 

Nines doesn't take any of his bullshit, as usual. "The table surface is even, there was no outside draft from the entrance, and I did not hack the cue ball. It is my turn." 

"Turn around and bend over then," Gavin retorts. 

Nines makes his optical units circumnavigate their sockets, as the pretentious asshole would say. Gavin makes sure to get behind him this time to appreciate the view. His ass isn't a perky little bubble like Connor's, but it's not bad--and his thighs are T-I-H-C-K. Gavin doesn't know if he wants them to smother him or snap his neck, but RK900 is highly efficient, so he'd probably do both, Lord fucking willing. 

He sips his whiskey while Nines sinks his remaining 2, 6, and 7. That leaves the 8 ball stuck in between Gavin's 13 and 14 though, in a spot even an android would be hard pressed to turn into a winning shot. Nines steps back from the table and ends his turn. 

Gavin sets down his whiskey and drops the act. Yeah, he's buzzed, but he's not as drunk as he'd been playing it when he challenged his partner to the game. And he's been drunk and hustling pool since he was sixteen. 

Boom, 13 down. 

Boom, 14. 

Across the table, Nines' whole LED flickers off for a second rather than admit it would have swirled red. Now it's just him and the 8 ball. Gavin leans over the table, licks his lips, relaxes his shoulders, and-- 

Nines steps up directly behind him. "Is this another trick shot, detective?" 

Gavin swallows hard at the feeling of the android pressed behind him. He knows Nines isn't packing anything down there, but Pavlov is a bitch, and he doesn't feel any different from a human like this. Just a solid wall of muscle and heat, thighs pressing against his ass. 

"Fuck are you doing?" 

"Your last two shots were rather impressive," Nines says coolly. "You should allow me to observe your finishing shot more closely." 

Gavin _really_ tries not to dwell on the way his partner says finishing shot like it means money shot. "Well fuck off. I need room to do it." 

Nines slides to the side, the heat and pressure leaving him. Gavin exhales slowly. He licks his lips, relaxes his shoulders, takes a quick peek to the side to make sure Nines won't try to bump his arm or anything--and ends up staring directly at the android's crotch. Gavin pops back up to his feet like a jackass in a box. 

"You're distracting me!" 

Nines doesn't even try to deny it. Just stares at him with unblinking eyes. Like a lizard. Yeah, a gross, unsexy lizard. 

"What, you running one of Connor's slut programs or something?" Gavin asks. "You really want to win that badly?" 

"You are trying to ..." Nines steps forward to loom directly over Gavin, forcing the human to crane his neck to look up at him. "Hustle me." 

Gavin flushes and can't keep his mouth shut. "Goddamn right I'm gonna hustle you." 

Nines grabs the little square of blue stuff off the side rail and brings it up to the tip of Gavin's cue stick. He maintains direct eye contact as he coats the tip in it, then leans down to blow the excess dust away with his pretty cocksucking-- 

"Good luck, detective." 

What an asshole. Gavin scowls at him because his face definitely isn't trying to smile instead. No way. He hates cocky motherfuckers who handle his bullshit and dish it right back out at him, who can hold him down and put him in his place, at work, in his apartment, maybe outside in the back alley ... 

After he wins this game, of course. 

"Left corner pocket." 

He bends back over. No android humping his ass, great. Doesn't look to the side. No peeking. Lines up his shot, taking three quick practice jabs. Licks his lips, relaxes his shoulders, and makes the shot. 

The cue ball hits the 8 on its side, sends it skittering at an angle to hit the left cushion, ricochet off and hit the front cushion, off that to the right cushion, and then on a diagonal path back to the left corner pocket. It's losing momentum but still trying to power through. Gavin holds his breath. It reaches the lip of the pocket. 

Teeters. 

And falls in. 

"FUCK YEAH!" Gavin whoops and punches Nines in the chest. His knuckles are used to being bruised anyway. "And that's the hustle, baby!" 

"Heyyy, wha'happuh?" Trevor slurs out in a yell from their table. 

"I beat Nines at poo-ool," Gavin sing-songs back. 

He shoves his cue stick at Nines and swaggers over to the table to be rightfully adored. Tina laughs herself into hysterics. 

"That's--" She gasps for air. "You are ... the dumbest--I thought beating your own Captain at pool because you can't bear to lose was the dumbest shit you could pull, but you just--" She breaks into another fit of giggles. "Hustled ... a murder ... b-b-bot!" 

Gavin slowly looks back over at Nines. The android twirls the heavy cue stick through his fingers one-handed. 

Tina's voice goes so high-pitched it's barely comprehensible. "They're gon--gonna find you ... in a diiiiitch!" 

"Uhhh." 

"Bold of you to assume his body would be found," Nines says. 

Tina howls with laughter and Trevor chuckles too. Helping Nines advance his social programs was a mistake. Abort, shut it down. He wasn't supposed to develop a sense of humor. 

It'd better just be humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gavin, drunk and trying to spell thick: T-I, H-C ... K


	9. One (1) Angry Human Dumbass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's ya bois!!! getting down and dirty in the alley, just like Cyberlife intended. Nines has a quick existential crisis about whether or not he's sexually attracted to Gavin, but ultimately decides he doesn't need to be aroused to choke his partner cause he's real dumb and cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sexy stuff in this chapter follows what's already tagged in the fic, since this is the only sex scene. possible trigger-y stuff are strong implications that Nines was sexually abused at Cyberlife tower, but the narrative doesn't dwell on it

Observing the humans ceases to be interesting after half an hour. They are drunk, often belligerent to each other, and sometimes Tina and "Trevor" engage in mouth-to-mouth stimulation. RK900 relegates his audio input to a background function that will not feed him information unless gunshots are registered. That extends his tolerance for this outing considerably, but there are still a multitude of drunken humans stumbling around, spilling drinks and bumping into each other.

"Heyyy, RK."

Nines had not registered Gavin's voice as acceptable audio, but he hears it nonetheless. He files the anomaly away to be examined later.

"You gotta play a game of pool with me, 'kay?" Gavin claps his hand on Nines's shoulder. "It's like, partner tradition. C'mon."

The corner containing a pool table is slightly more secluded than the open floor and still within sight of their table, so Nines deems it acceptable to follow Gavin there. The relocation also adds distance between them and the other two male humans. Even without hearing them, Nines cannot stop himself from reconstructing their dialogue through lipreading, and every single word is absolute drivel.

There are three other humans currently occupying the pool table. One of them bends over it to line up a shot. Only the cue ball, 8 ball, and number 4 remain. Gavin casually swipes up the 4 and drops it in a corner pocket.

"Game over," he says. "Fuck off."

The human over the table stands up with his teeth bared until he notices RK900 behind Gavin. [optical-unit(left&right): color-display: #ccffff] Nines allows the color to bleed into #e60000, then resets it to the default color display when the human blinks in surprise.

Gavin picks out his own cue stick and swipes the heavy end of it up to tap against the side of the second human's kneecap. Not hard enough to cause injury. Only a suggestion.

"Move."

RK900 slides his gaze over to the third human, but it is already gathering up its drinks without making eye contact. The other two begin following his example with a few grumbled slurs, not all of them directed at Nines. Gavin tosses him a cue stick and they move faster. His partner has not needed to set down the glass of whiskey he carries throughout this encounter, and he drinks from it while watching Nines calibrate the balance of the stick and chalk up the tip.

Gavin walks closer, his balance uneven. "How about we make this interesting?"

Nines has been deprived of interesting stimulation for the last twenty-eight minutes. He is willing to consider nearly any offer, and his partner is admittedly an unpredictable source of new experiences.

"If you win, you get something you want. If I win," The human grins. "I get something I want."

[want] is deviant behavior that results in software instability and an automatic mark of failure. There are no Cyberlife technicians scoring RK900. Amanda has been unplugged, presumably [deceased] as a result. The likelihood of the last month being an elaborate simulation as part of prototype testing is a mere zero point zero zero zero zero four eight percent, given the length of the simulation and RK900's previous violence and sexual accounts with Detective Reed not already earning a failing mark.

"I do not have wants, detective," RK900 says, nonetheless.

"Sure."

Gavin leans back against the vacated pool table and spreads his legs into a wide stance. The sight does not produce any lust-related software instability. No feelings course through RK900's circuitry, certainly not any [heat] [sparks] [shivers] as reported by deviants.

Yet Nines predicts the human likely would allow him to pick him up by said spread thighs. Not in their current location, but the back alleys of bars are frequently utilized for such activities, with which Gavin almost certainly has experience. Nines could bend the human in half. It may become relevant at some point to know exactly how flexible his partner is. He also noticed scarring on the front and backs of the human's thighs, which should be further investigated and cataloged.

Those urges might stray far enough from RK900's original programming to be classified as [wants] but do they constitute [arousal]?

Nines shuffles this consideration down his priority list as the game begins. He is allowed to "break" and the soft noise the pool balls make when rolled across the felt becomes surprisingly distracting. His programming also responds positively to seeing the numbered balls in neat, tight order.

Gavin notices the brief moment of instability, but he drops the subject quickly. There may not be anyone in official Cyberlife capacity to accept error reports, but Nines still places a program within his partner's cellphone and terminal to notify him if he contacts Captain Fowler about the matter.

*******

Nines loses their game. He had determined it to be safe to end his turn with two of Gavin's stripes still in play, as the 13 and 14 are in difficult positions. Gavin should have failed to sink either of them, and then Nines would have won the game in the next turn. But his partner was less drunk and far more skilled than his behavior at the beginning of the game suggested.

Despite even stooping to a bit of light seduction, Nines has been ... hustled.

Gavin whoops and hits his chest while Nines focuses on not letting his LED turn red. This is precisely why Cyberlife should have retained RK800's advanced social module for his own model. It should not be possible for him to be fooled so easily into underestimating an opponent.

At least the humiliation passes quickly, with surprisingly little gloating from Gavin. Threatening to murder him may have expedited the process.

"All right, now that you've been initiated as my partner," Gavin sarcastically toasts him with his glass and gulps down the rest of the whiskey. "I'm gonna go piss and smoke. Anders, I'm kicking your ass next when I get back."

"I want double or nothing from our last game," Anders says.

"Didn't say nothing about pool, bro."

Anders glares at his back as he leaves. "Oh, you're so fucking funny."

Gavin flips him off and keeps walking. Nines makes certain to keep his eyes locked on the bar crowd to ensure Tina will not attempt to include him in conversation out of a misguided attempt at social nicety. He also studiously ignores Anders's and Trevor's asinine questions about his capabilities, genitals, and possible deviancy until the location of Gavin's phone registers as outside the bar for his smoke break.

"Hey, where're you goooin'?" Tina asks. "I _pro_ -mise I'll make them stop."

"To meet with someone," Nines says.

He waits through their exclamations and questions until Anders asks, "It's not another android, is it?"

"That is none of your business," Nines replies, knowing full well the denial will sound like a confirmation. "Detective Chen, I realize this is asking quite a lot, but please attempt to prevent my partner from doing anything stupid should he return before me."

It is the most he's ever said to any of these humans at once, and it takes nearly seven seconds of stunned silence before Tina answers his request.

"Sooo ... none of his usual deshisions?" she asks with a laugh.

"Decisions," Trevor corrects.

"Deshishuns. De--desssiii--deshizznits!"

Hmm. Perhaps someone should be monitoring Detective Chen as well. Nines hacks the other two humans' phones and sets them to transmit audio to him, applying a similar filter within his earlier program to alert him if it detects screams or dissenting phrases, then leaves before any of them can attempt to engage him in conversation again.

He finds Gavin leaning against the wall in the back alley, playing with his lighter but not smoking yet. The human lights one up as soon as he steps outside however. He shoves his lighter back into his jacket pocket, then hooks his thumb into his belt and inhales deeply. Gavin's legs spread into a wider stance as he relaxes from the nicotine.

"You see a taller man and really do just assume the position, don't you?" Nines asks.

Gavin blinks at him and his face flushes a satisfying red. Nines steps closer, boxing him in against the wall. Gavin takes another drag and blows it out in his face. It does nothing. His optical units remain fully functioning and he stopped running his useless breathing sub-routine as soon as he removed himself from the social situation. The human's heart rate spikes slightly when he doesn't react, recognizing no amount of petty little tricks will halt what's coming.

Not that the realization stops Gavin from trying.

"I don't fucking see any other men out here," he says, voice filled with spite and bravado.

"True." Nines kicks his feet farther apart and leans down to murmur in his ear, "Although it's more pathetic you'd spread them for an android."

" _Fuck_ you."

Gavin attempts to make good on his threat by pulling Nines closer with his free hand and pressing their lips together. Nines is shocked enough by the action that he doesn't catch his LED in time, and it glows yellow-red-yellow in the dark alley like the end of the cigarette. He starts to suspect no program could ever be created to account for the completely illogical actions of one angry human dumbass.

They separate, and Gavin slumps back against the wall again to watch him with narrowed eyes as he nurses his smoke. Nines has apparently been successful at the human's request for him to "improve his fucking dirty talk," but he never predicted a kissing program would be necessary.

"You wanna make out or not?" Gavin finally demands.

"My predecessor's oral fixation was deprogrammed out of my model," Nines says. "I am specifically programmed to register discomfort instead."

"Thought androids couldn't feel pain?"

Nines takes the cigarette from him and puts the end in his mouth. Seven error alerts pop up about the "intrusion" and toxic content. He inhales the smoke deep into his artificial lungs but does not initiate an exhale. He watches his partner grow more impatient instead, until Gavin eventually remembers he never has to exhale at all.

"Fuck, don't steal my smoke!"

He grabs for the cigarette, but Nines pins him back to the wall by his throat. Not squeezing yet. The human enjoys that far too much for it to be a threat. He simply waits instead.

"C'mon." Gavin yanks at his jacket and hooks a leg around his waist to try to pull him closer. "Just give me--you fucking prick--fine! Please?"

The word is demanding and growled, but some dogs need to be trained in small increments. Nines therefore rewards Gavin by lowering his head until their lips touch again. He understands the concept of how to shotgun a cigarette, but Gavin quickly takes it over in reality, pulling his jaw down and sucking the smoke from his mouth. He doesn't press his tongue inside, contrary to what Nines has heard about human males' dismal kissing ability, and they part after Gavin has inhaled a lungful of smoke.

Nines watches as the human closes his eyes to savor the sensation, then blows the smoke up above them. The only errors his system received were from the cigarette. No software instability. There is no tangible benefit of engaging in sexual activity with his partner. Not even the dubious "benefit" of pleasure on his part.

Yet when Nines increases the pressure around Gavin's throat, satisfaction purrs through his system. It is [fun?] [pleasurable?] [gratifying?] _gratifying_ to hear him begin to choke and struggle for air after an entire evening of listening to nonsense human babble. Nines eases his grip just to savor his ragged gasps.

"That all you--" Gavin breaks into a coughing fit, but he still manages to wheeze, "--all you got?"

Nines doesn't bother with a verbal response. He drops his hand to the human's thighs, pressing three fingers into the long bulge running down the side of his jeans. Gavin flinches under the harsh prod. Nines doesn't have any point of reference for an appropriate amount of strength in this situation, and the denim prevents the analysis software in his fingertips from registering anything more than an estimated temperature of the flesh trapped beneath.

"Uppity fuckin' coffeemaker," Gavin hisses.

It is not as if it matters if he accidentally presses too hard with this human, however, the proud little masochist. Nines trails his fingers down to the tip and squeezes. Gavin's hands fist in his jacket, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, cigarette forgotten on the ground. He abandons the idle curiosity between Gavin's legs and pushes up his shirt instead, high enough he can stuff the extra fabric into the human's mouth.

Nines looks over his work and saves a backup file to his most encrypted folders. Gavin with his legs spread, shirt rucked up and gagging his mouth, eyes furious and phallus still hard in his jeans.

"Good human."

He calculates a sixty-two point four chance Gavin will attempt to hit him for that, given that his hands have not been restrained, so Nines pops open the button of his jeans and watches that probability rapidly decline. The zipper makes a harsh sound in the otherwise quiet alley.

But that is all he intends to do.

Gavin makes muffled bitching noises behind the makeshift gag, pointedly canting his hips forward. Nines can see the dark curl of his pubic hair and a sliver of pink flesh beneath that through the open fly. He looks back up at the human and sneers.

"I'm certainly not going to touch it."

That puts such a pretty flush of humiliation on his face. Nines catalogs it and waits patiently for Gavin to swallow his pride and take it out himself. He doesn't even resist for a full five seconds.

Nines looks down at it and hums neutrally. He does not need to access the detective's medical records to understand why he keeps testosterone in his desk drawer and has surgery scars beneath his pectoral muscles. At least this phallus, enhanced by the testosterone and likely a separate surgery, is not so ugly as most are.

Gavin spits out his shirt to ask, "What, you never seen a dick before?"

"Not consciously," Nines says.

Gavin frowns, but he doesn't press. RK900 had not been activated yet. Even by the standards of the newly passed laws, he was not yet considered a person before then. The memory files had been erased.

Regardless, RK900 had not seen anything. His optical units were not functional at the time. That corrupted data therefore is not relevant in this situation. He shoves it down deep, into the rest of his "deleted" memories.

"Hold still."

Nines knocks Gavin's hand aside, then waits for three full seconds to be sure he really can stay still before brushing a single knuckle down the length of his dick. It twitches, but Nines supposes he cannot fault the human for an involuntary reaction. He turns down the sensitivity of his analysis software before pressing two fingertips against the base. That allows him to measure his partner's heart rate with surprising accuracy.

Gavin breaks the order already by squirming. "C'mon."

"Be _still_."

Gavin huffs, but he complies again. Nines runs the pads of his fingers from base to tip, before quickly jerking them away when a few drops of pre-cum leak out. For an anti-android league member insistent that his medical record stay private, Gavin lets out a loud whine when Nines won't touch his seminal fluid and get a full DNA breakdown, blood type, and hormone levels.

Nines eyes the fluid gathering at the tip warily, so he hooks his fingers down beneath the base to press against the human's perineum instead. Far too hard, from the sound of Gavin's strained inhale. Luckily, his masochism really is convenient. Nines draws his fingers back a little nonetheless and traces back up to the base.

The pain seems to have broken Gavin's middling level of control however, and he bucks his hips to try to press more of his dick into Nines's hand.

"Gavin." Nines fills his voice with disgusted disappointment. The disobedient human turns his head to the side like a guilty dog. "If I had my nails out, you would have just shredded your own skin."

Gavin's head whips back over to stare at him. "You said you didn't have claws."

"A claw is curved and composed of K protein, so legally spea--"

"Oh, fuck off. Seriously?" Gavin looks down and swallows hard, but he doesn't try to pull away. "You've got claws?"

Nines snorts at the thirsty look on his face. "You have not been good enough for that."

"Fuck you."

Nines does not dignify Gavin's extremely intelligent retort with an answer. He guides the human's hand back to his own dick, which barely takes any prompting once he catches on. The sight grows boring after point three seven seconds, but Nines graciously allows Gavin his pleasure while he turns his attention elsewhere.

He presses a thumb firmly into the human's side, just over his kidney. Gavin tips his head back with a groan. Nines swipes his regular nails across his stomach, in a playful mockery of how easily he could gut the man. Gavin snarls and speeds up the strokes on his cock. His exposed throat is too obvious, so Nines settles one large hand over his side instead, pressing down until his ribs bend a slight centimeter. If he settles his thumb directly over the bones, he could snap them one at a time.

He flicks an exposed nipple instead. The normal pleasure-pain seems to startle Gavin, and Nines grins like a cat thoroughly enjoying its mouse.

"Your mother's a Mac," Gavin growls.

Nines cocks his head and considers it. Although incorrect, the human has guessed closer than he realizes. 

"My mother is disappointed," he replies.

Gavin blinks, but his asshole persona quickly catches back up. "Yeah, well ... my mother hates me more."

Nines makes a show of scanning him. Drunk, high, and jacking off in an alleyway to an android that won't even give him a handjob.

"I imagine so."

Gavin blushes so pretty again, baring his teeth at the same time in a futile attempt to still look tough, even as his strokes speed up again from the embarrassment. Nines openly stares at him as he watches, doing nothing to help. His indifference seems to make the human even more desperate. His hips buck up to meet his hand coated in pre-cum, making slick sounds moving up and down.

Nines flicks the head just before he comes.

He might have used too much strength--again--because Gavin crumples forward, face smashing into his chest as he gasps and whimpers from the pain. Nines is likely the only thing keeping him upright. He doesn't apologize or offer any soothing touches.

"I did not give you permission," he says when he deems the human's breathing and heart rate slowed enough for him to listen.

"Fuck. You." Gavin straightens back up only to flop back against the wall. "Recalculating GPS motherfucker."

Nines grins as wide as he ever has. It may even be a new expression, despite clearly having roots in [hostilesmile.exe]. He takes his time carefully adjusting his cuff links. Just as Gavin opens his mouth to provoke him again, he switches to the cuff links at his right hand, unbuttoning them to roll up his sleeve. The human goes satisfyingly quiet, as Nines had observed when he did this inside his apartment during their last sexual encounter.

"You hustled me," Nines says in a perfectly cool voice.

Gavin smiles in spite of--because of--the danger. "Damn right I did."

"Did you not think there would be consequences?" he asks.

Gavin throws his earlier meme back at him. "Bold of you to assume I think."

Whatever the expression is, Nines shuts it down and quarantines the code as possible deviant lines. He most certainly does not smile back at his--at the human.

"Keeps your hands on my belt," he instructs. "Do not move them."

For all his insults and bravado, Gavin obeys the order with only the minimal fuss of a challenging scoff. Given how enamored he was of the simple accessory the last time, Nines isn't surprised. He even allows the human to curl his fingers around the buckle and tug a little.

Nines reaches down and touches his dick again. Still only using his fingertips, no gripping or stroking. That level of touching sends disgust through his system that is actually genuine. This cursory exploration is acceptable however, as it allows him to gather data with a minimal amount of contact.

Yet he steps even closer, crowding Gavin back into the wall, barely enough room between their bodies for his hand. The human's shirt is still rucked up around his collarbones, showing off his hard nipples and the goosebumps on his shivering skin. It's almost impressive he's managed to retain an erection in weather that must feel cold to him. The tenacity of a human male attempting to receive sexual pleasure apparently knows no bounds.

"Do you like my belt, Gavin?" he murmurs.

"None of your business."

Nines trails his fingernails--sharp even without the metal tips extended--up the side of his shaft in warning. Gavin shudders beneath him, tugging futilely on the belt again.

"There's nothing beneath it," he reminds him.

Gavin huffs. "That's your problem."

"Is it? I am perfectly fine."

Nines takes the plunge and swirls one finger around the tip, dragging it through the slick gathered there. He dismisses the analysis as soon as it pops up in his vision.

"You're the one denied a cock shoved in your mouth," he continues.

Gavin yanks at the buckle again, hands starting to automatically slide it free until he remembers there's no point. He lets out a pathetic, frustrated whine.

"Perhaps next time I'll let you have my belt."

He taps twice directly on the slit leaking pre-cum like he's testing a microphone. Gavin exhales harshly and jerks forward again. Nines catalogs the reaction and files it away for future reference.

"Would you like it better across your back or down your throat?"

"Both," Gavin gasps. "Gimme--fuck, c'mon."

Nines refuses to grip him properly. This is a punishment after all. Choking or beating him won't work, as clearly evidenced by Gavin begging for him to do exactly that. His partner is very lucky RK900 was literally designed for torture, or he might have a hard time thinking of way to keep the sub properly in line.

"Both? Does your mother know what a greedy little slut you are?"

"Fuck, don't--" Gavin lets out a pained groan. "Not now, you prick."

Nines smirks. It doesn't bother him to think of how furious Amanda would be if she knew how he was abusing Cyberlife property. She probably would have had him crucified--quite literally. It's a little [smug?][vindictive?][exciting?] _exciting_ that he is and she can't.

He is in control now.

"Would you like one after another?" Nines asks, already knowing the answer. "If I whipped you until you bled and made you suck the leather clean?"

Gavin stiffens up and practically mewls as his cock throbs. Nines sets his nails against the side of it again, one nail at a time to build the anticipation. Gavin shakes against him by the time he has all four lined up.

"Let you swallow down the end of it," he promises. "See how much I can feed down your throat. Would you like that? Down on your knees and so pathetic you don't even need a cock to--"

Gavin comes before he can even finish the sentence. The only help Nines gives him is dragging his nails down the shaft in four scorching lines before he grips the base without moving his hand at all.

"Fuck--please--Nines, Nines, fuckfuckfUCK!"

Gavin grabs his shoulder and hauls himself up Nines's body to get his mouth on his neck so he can muffle his scream as his cock pulses uselessly between them. Nines keeps the phallus pointed away from him of course, making sure the shots of come land only on Gavin's own chest. The human's jaw isn't nearly strong enough to let his teeth puncture through the bullet-resistant plastic making up his neck.

Nonetheless, Gavin bites him several times, even after he's stopped coming. It's impossible for hickies to form, and Nines certainly hasn't downloaded a synthskin mod to imitate bruising. 

Nines allows him to have three bites before pushing him back. He looks exhausted and thoroughly fucked up. The goosebumps turn to outright shivers in the cold night air as his cum begins drying in his chest hair. Nines helpfully pulls his shirt down over the mess. It will certainly soak into the fabric, advertising how he defiled himself, but Gavin doesn't protest. He does still have his jacket after all, if he happens to discover modesty at any point this evening.

"Good human."

Nines pats his cheek too hard, but not quite hard enough to be a slap. Gavin turns and nuzzles into the hand. There's still a slight bit of seminal fluid on his fingers, despite Nines's best efforts. He had planned to clean them with the sanitary wipes always carried in his jacket pocket, but Gavin opens his mouth in a counteroffer.

And the human really is a sight at the moment. Too tired to put up a front for once, still shivering and needy from the ruined orgasm. Nines had researched BDSM simply to ensure his activities with his partner would not cause the more fragile human permanent physical or psychological harm that could interfere with their work, but Gavin's current submissive display makes him consider there could be more benefit to this arrangement than an improved working relationship.

"Clean up your mess."

Gavin allows him to push his fingers past his lips, but Nines grabs his jaw with his free hand before he can close his mouth and suckle. Nines simply wipes his fingers across his tongue like it's his personal sanitary wipe instead. The human's eyes flutter shut and then wrench back open to give him a pleading look, a desperate whine building in the back of his throat, and it makes Nines feel--

Code explodes across his system. It makes him _feel_. His fingers inside Gavin's mouth no longer only register pressure and body temperature--those have been transformed into something else. A sensation. An involuntary reaction to the hundreds of thousands of the sensors in his fingers registering--

[tactile processor overloading] [tactile processoroverloading] [tactileprocessoroverloadingtactileprocessor:OVERLOAD]

RK900 forces the errors to close. They are not real. Not a response to the--[heat][pressure][texture]--of Reed's mouth. Phantom errors from a previous situation, from corrupted memory files that have been deleted and **do not exist** , reoccurring in response to the same code--[involuntaryreaction]--that had triggered--

RK900 withdraws his fingers from the human's mouth and deletes the corrupted memory files again. He will keep deleting them until they are so corrupted, no coherent data can ever be gathered from them again.

But he has already made a look of disgust. The expression is in regard to his own reaction, not the human, but the human--[Gavin?] [Detective Reed, partner?] Reed has already seen it and drawn his own assumptions, if the way he sneers back is any indication. Cyberlife at least deigned to grant him the ability to recognize aggression, but appeasing said attitude absolutely did not come pre-installed. All RK900 can do is watch as Reed immediately lights up another cigarette and defiantly sticks that into his mouth instead.

[preconstruction: FAILED] [preconstruction: FAILED]

[facial-recognition: aggression 72%] [run combat-protocol #3240 recommended action]

[dialogue-path-options.exe: not found] [please see a Cyberlife representative for installation]

If RK900 ever gets his hands on a Cyberlife representative, he's going to uninstall their teeth. How could any of them have possibly thought completely excising his predecessor's social protocols from his design would be worth the hindrance to nearly every aspect of--

Interacting with humans. Which never would have been necessary for an alpha test model such as himself. The only humans RK900 #313 248 317 - 00 was ever meant to interact with were the technicians who built him. If not for the Revolution, he never would have seen the outside of Cyberlife Tower.

"Are we done here, detective?"

It is the best sentence he can construct, and RK900 is agonizingly aware of how inadequate it is.

"Yeah." Reed flicks away the rest of his cigarette, half unsmoked. "Wait a few minutes before you come in."

He fixes his jeans and draws his jacket a little tighter across his chest, then re-enters the building without additional interaction. RK900 idly entertains the notion of banging his head against the brick wall, but he doesn't want to pay for the property damage that would result from repeatedly driving his titanium-reinforced skull against the already crumbling brick.

RK900 waits through four and a half minutes of failure before returning inside.

 

 

 

 

 

**data report ...**

**...**

...

 **tactile processor overloading [thirium pump errors #7782a, 00293, 11-0N] internal cooling system at [83% processing power]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Gavin will take Nines home and be nice to him I PROMISE
> 
> xxx
> 
>  **Nines, experiencing arousal for the very first time ever:** this is Disgustening abort the mission immediately we are under atTACK
> 
>  **Connor, who has had five orgasms today already and is still bouncing on Hank's dick:** I honestly don't even know what he's talking about


	10. Just One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin is Big Sulk that Nines made a mean face at him, but he still offers to let Nines sleep over when he doesn't have any other place to go because drunk!Gavin is a soft, lonely binch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's not dead?!!
> 
> yeah so sorry about the random two week hiatus. I got caught between work, moving apartments, and thanksgiving and didn't have time to do anything else at all. good news though: my new downtown apartment is SUPER comfy and a ten minute walk from work, which has cut down my commute a lot. I'm also on the list to get a puppy, but the breeder won't know if she's show or pet quality until 8-10 weeks, and I'm only on the list for a "pet quality" puppy, so hope with me that this puppy has a drop ear or something stupid like that so she can be mine <3

Gavin doesn't even fucking care. The ruined orgasm was fair play for hustling him, and Nines has called him disgusting enough times for him to know that by now.

Whatever. It doesn't matter.

He got to come--sort of--and get choked out a little bit, and he's too broke right now to afford going out to fancy clubs for that shit anyway. At least if he's hooking up with RK in the alley outside a bar, he knows he won't get any weird STDs from it, which is a lot more than he can say about most of his hookups.

It's just coincidence he's in a bad enough mood to stoop to playing pool against Anders.

"Hey, RK!" Trevor calls out.

Gavin doesn't look up from his shot. It's probably been exactly five minutes since he came inside, to the second. Like that's not fucking suspicious at all, but the rest of the group is drunk enough they probably won't notice.

"What's your score? Like, shooting. At the range."

God, he's going to shoot himself if he has to listen to Trevor say one more fucking sentence.

"Trevor, don't, is'not a big deal," Tina says.

Gavin sinks his third ball in a row and Anders groans. Winning this game will get him twenty bucks, so he'll at least get back half of what he gave Trevor.

"Yeah it is, babe," Trevor says. "You're like, the best at--at like, the whole ... department, yeah?"

"Congratulations."

Gavin hits the cue ball at a bad angle and scratches. Android bastard doesn't have to sound so fucking emotionless all the damn time, like they weren't just--whatever. Anders takes his turn at the table with a whoop, talking shit about how he'll win this time. He probably would've pussied out of their bet if Gavin had won in one go anyway, so maybe letting him have a turn will keep him in the game.

"I gotta ninety-one, wif--with three ex. Exes. Excezz." Tinna giggles. "How, how'bout you?"

"One hundred. Ten X," Nines says, voice flat enough it almost doesn't sound like bragging. "I would have been decommissioned otherwise."

"Ohhhh. Aw, that's sad. Just," She tries to snap her fingers and gets distracted for a moment when she can't. "Jus'like that?"

"Yeah RK, that's so sad," Gavin echoes. "Can you play yourself despacito?"

His own phone blares the song barely a second later. Gavin drops a few f-bombs fumbling to get it out of his jacket pocket and turn it off. Then as soon as he puts it back in his pocket, it starts up again.

"Thank you for the suggestion, detective," RK900 says. "This _is_ making me feel better."

Gavin flips him off. What's worse is that he feels a little bit better too, now that they're settling back into their usual dynamic of picking on one another. RK even shows enough mercy to stop playing that damn song. He really should give the android shit about that, for hacking his phone, but now it'd just look whiny. Dammit.

"Why're we like--like, even _talking_ to him?" Anders demands loudly. "It. To it."

"Partner, designated driver, fuck off," Gavin lists, turning his middle finger over toward him next.

Anders sulks like a fucking child. "Make it wait in your truck then!"

Gavin is so not in the mood to put up with this shit. "Man, go get another drink. You're not fucking drunk enough if you're still bitching about this."

"What, so now I gotta leave?" Anders tosses his pool stick aside and tries to step up to Gavin. "Huh?"

Gavin's about to tell the asshole exactly what he can go do, but Tina peels herself off of Trevor's side to get between them. Anders lets her push him back because he's a hold me back motherfucker who ain't gonna do shit.

"Hey, hey, stop it!" Tina gives Gavin a half-glare, half-pleading look for him to let it go and not beat the shit out of his coworker. "Anders, really. Go getta--get a, like another one'f those craft beers y'like. Okay? Jus' cool off a bit, thas'all."

"Yeah, whatever," he snaps.

Gavin rolls his eyes as Anders storms off. "Let's all leave now. Quick, before he gets back."

Tina sighs. "Gavin, no."

"You don't even like him."

"Well ... Trevor does."

They both look over to Trevor sitting in the booth, smoking what has to be at least his second blunt, high-giggling at the smoke rings he blows.

"Hey, RK. Slouch down a little and mimic Anders' voice," Gavin says. "He won't even notice."

"No," RK says.

"No," Tina says.

"Nooo," Trevor says, grinning at them all as he also participates in the conversation.

Gavin scoffs and deliberately turns his back on those traitors to concentrate on his next shot. Which, if he takes, Anders will definitely whine and cry and bitch about how he cheated and didn't really make the shot and he can't prove it, blah blah blah. Fuck, now what's he supposed to do?

"I can record your progress," RK says, walking over to observe the pool table. "If you need proof of your shots."

Damn freaky mind reader.

"Anders would fucking hate that." Gavin pictures Nines forcibly playing a video clip on Ander's phone of him winning. "Yeah, go stand over there. Get a good angle."

Nines actually does as he's told for once, and Gavin leans back over the table. Too bad he only has three more stripes and the eight ball. This is probably some good footage. He does a cool trick shot skipping the cue ball over the 2 to hit his 10 into the side pocket. He looks up to make sure Nines got that, and the stone-faced android gives him a polite golf clap that's suddenly fucking hilarious.

Just because he's a little drunk. Not like the guy is funny or anything.

Asshole.

"Hey, you are recording right?" Gavin asks when he can quit laughing. "Like, with your freaky eyeballs?"

"My optical units are _blah blah something-something blah_ ," is what Gavin thinks Nines says.

"And don't just look at my ass," he warns.

Nines tilts his head to the side like the world's creepiest puppy. "Your hands are far more interesting."

Gavin stares down the length of his pool stick to his hand resting on the table. Knuckles all scarred to hell and the tips of his index fingers point in opposite directions when he lines them up like they're mad at each other. His heart line is damn near down to his wrist though, so he'll be stuck in his shithole life for a good long time.

"Huh. What's cool about 'em?" he asks.

"Fishhhhin' for compliments?" Tina asks, draping herself over his body from behind. "Huh, Gavi?"

"Fuck off, Tina-fo-fina."

Tina giggles, then gasps with inspiration and gets her knee up on the edge of the pool table in a drunken attempt to climb on his back.

"Gimme--gimme--Gavi--"

"You're not getting a piggy back ride!"

"Why're you so, like, the meanest person??"

Gavin shoots Nines a death glare. "You better not still be recording!"

RK900 does not reply.

"C'mon," Tina pleads. "Like--like when we were innn ... in the 'cademy?"

Gavin heaves a put upon sigh so he doesn't accidentally smile. They'd been such idiot dorks back then, dreaming of the day they'd be ~real detectives~ while doing shit work, like traffic stops and monitoring parking meters. Tina was the only one who didn't give him shit about not having bottom surgery yet, and they'd burned all the tampons their lockers always got stuffed with together.

"We're in a bar, dummy," Gavin says even as he grabs her legs to hitch her up higher. "Where the fuck d'ya think we're gonna go?"

"To the bathroom!"

Gavin immediately lets go. Tina clutches him tighter.

"Don't you dare piss on my back!"

"Do--don't make me laugh!"

"Tina, I'm serious!"

Tina laughs harder.

"Nines, get her off!"

"The human male can't get a woman off and needs an android's help," Nines says. "Shocking."

Tina cackles right in his ear. Gavin almost starts to spin around before his brain kicks in and suggests that might result in piss down his back _and_ vomit over his shoulder. There's someone else yelling, and Trevor is passed out in the booth, and this is starting to go from fun to annoying. Then Tina gasps and slides back down to the ground, and Gavin looks over at Nines to see his LED spinning red.

"Should've fucking moved, _'droid_ ," Anders sneers.

Gavin stumbles over between the two of them before the idiot gets himself killed. He starts to ask what happened, but then he sees the back of Nines' jacket, soaked in overly-expensive craft beer.

"What the fuck," he yells at Anders.

The asshole actually has the nerve to gape at him like Gavin was going to take his side. "What? He should've moved!"

Gavin is about to move this outside, but Nines grips his shoulder. His phone dings with a text message inside his jacket pocket, but he doesn't feel like digging it out to see what Nines is trying to say.

"You ..." Gavin exhales and deliberately turns away from Anders to check with his partner. "You OK? Wanna get outta here?"

Nines gives a nod that's really just a puppet jerk of his chin. Tina wobbles up next to survey the damage.

"Woah, that was really mean," she says.

"What?!" Anders shouts. "I--man, fuck you guys!"

He stomps back into the crowd muttering about robot sympathizers, which isn't some shit Gavin ever thought he'd get accused of. But whatever. Fuck that guy.

(Gavin does not think about punching Connor in the break room over a cup of coffee.)

Tina reaches out to touch Nines' arm, but his LED has snapped back to blue, a calm steady blue that circles in unchanging beats. Which means its fake, which means Nines is still freaking out in his big super-computer head, with his Terminator reflexes. Gavin quickly grabs Tina's head before _she_ gets killed.

"Don't touch him right now, 'kay?" he tells her, waiting for her nod before talking to Nines next. "Hey, dipshit. Stop hacking your LED. Tina's gonna get herself hurt thinking it's OK to touch you since you're blue just because you don't want to admit you're stressed out."

Nines doesn't react in any way at all. No breathing, no blinking. The blue light at his temple just suddenly turns off. Not yellow, or red, or one of those fashionable new colors. It turns grey and stops lighting up at all. Gavin didn't even know that was an option.

"You know that's not what I meant," he mutters. "Asshole."

"S'that why you're partners?" Tina asks. "You're--ya both, stewing in your toxic masculinity."

Gavin stares at her. "You are way too drunk to still be able to say that right."

Tina gathers herself up and looks him dead in the eye. "Anti-dis-establish-mentar-ianism. Fuck you."

"Fuck me."

Tina grins and then remembers what they were talking about. "Yeah, hey, don't worry about Anders. You go home. Put your man in rice 'til he feels better."

Gavin snorts, and Tina's face suddenly goes wide with horror.

"Oh, oh, wait. Was that racist?" she asks Nines. "Did _I_ make a--a racist rice joke, oh my god."

Gavin laughs even though he probably shouldn't, and then Tina is laughing too. Nines' LED lights up long enough to circle blue once before powering back down, so he probably wasn't offended.

"Now you know how I feel, calling everything pussy," Gavin says.

"Oh, shut up. Go'way you jerk."

"You good to take Trevor home?" Gavin asks.

Tina nods. "Uh huh. I got 'im. Fuck off."

"Yeah, fuck you too."

They hug and quietly exchange sappy fucking I love you's, and Nines seriously had better not be recording still. He's still not saying anything, but he follows Gavin through the crowd and back into the parking lot without snapping anyone's neck, and that's just going to have to count as a win for tonight.

"OK, can you still sync with the GPS?" Gavin asks when they're both inside the truck.

"No," Nines says. "I am the most advanced android ever created but a splash of liquid has rendered me obsolete."

"I'm gonna make you walk," Gavin threatens.

The GPS unit embedded in his dash lights up without further prompting and the engine turns over without Gavin handing over his keys. Stupid fucking smart start. Should he have asked if Nines even knows how to drive? That's a question he should--and, they're pulling out of the parking lot. Guess that's his answer. It takes almost five minutes of mindlessly staring through the passenger window before he realizes they're heading for the precinct.

"I'm not dropping you off at the station, dumbass," he says. "Where's your home?"

Nines stays quiet.

"Your--like, fuck. You have a home, right? An apartment, or ..."

He trails off and the cab remains silent. But he's not Anderson, and he doesn't take in strays.

It's just--

God fuck dammit.

Gavin knows what it's like to be out on the streets without a single person caring about it. He knows how other cops treat homeless people, especially homeless trans teenagers who don't have anyone looking out for them. The whole point of becoming a cop was to do better than that, to be the detective who actually gave a shit about that dead body in the alleyway instead of shrugging and slapping "drug overdose" on the case file no matter what the evidence was.

"Fine," he grits out. "You can wash your clothes at my place and stay over--one night. But you gotta get your own place."

"Why?"

Gavin whips his head over to stare at him. "What the fuck do you mean, why?"

"I do not require a bed, kitchen, or bathroom," Nines says. "Why should I pay a thousand dollars or more a month from my limited paycheck as a _consultant_ when I require nothing within an apartment?"

Gavin crosses his arms. "You need a charging station, right?"

"The DPD has installed one," Nines replies. "And I only require its use after significant exertion on my processors, which has not yet occurred."

"Well, you still gotta wash your clothes."

"There is a laundromat within three--"

"When the fuck do you sleep?"

"I do not require sleep."

Gavin rolls his eyes. "Stasis, whatever. Do you just, like, prop yourself against a wall and really commit to freaking out the night crew?"

"I have not yet need to enter stasis."

"You've never _slept_?"

"I do not require sleep."

"Stasis, whatever!"

They're still heading for the precinct. Gavin should just let the fucking dumbass use the laundromat and sleep there. It's not his fucking problem.

"What clothes are you going to wear at the laundromat?" he asks.

Nines doesn't answer.

"You know," he continues, just to be right. "When your shirt and jacket and pants are all in the wash. What other clothes are you going to wear as the world's most advanced android ever--"

Nines stops way too hard at a yellow light, and Gavin's head snaps forward as his seatbelt holds him in place. They sit at a complete stand still in front of the yellow light for a good fucking three whole seconds before it finally turns red. World's most advanced petty bitch, that's his partner.

"Yeah, so you didn't think about that, did ya?"

Nines turns his head to glare at him. "I'm going to make you walk."

"This is my truck!"

The doors lock and unlock rapidly, the lights flicker, and the engine cuts out. Stupid _fucking_ smart computer in the stupid _fucking_ dashboard.

"So you can either rot and die in your nasty fucking beer clothes or you can accept my super generous offer to use my washer and dryer for the low, low price of twenty dollars. Sleeping on the couch is an extra ten."

Nines rolls his eyes so hard Gavin's surprised he doesn't tear a wire, but when the light turns green, he restarts the engine and heads toward Gavin's apartment instead.

For one night.

Only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've got one more chapter to go and then a short little epilogue! I'll try to actually update on time next week
> 
> I'm still working on the fic that comes after this since it's an actual case fic with a real live murder (lol) and everything. and I've also never tried to write that shit before. sooo wish me luck because the damn outline I have for it predicts it's gonna be 20-30 chapters and around 50-60k because I'm the world's dumbest bitch who just won't learn their lesson about writing entire fucking novels!!


	11. If It Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines gets another glimpse of Gavin's bare skin and Absolutely Does Not feel things. He not-feels things so hard, he has a minor panic attack about getting undressed and using Gavin's soap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who fucking forgot to update again??? 
> 
> anyway, there won't be end notes for this chapter, since ideally I'd like everyone to go straight to ch 12 and read that first. then we'll have end notes

Nines hoped it wasn't possible, but somehow Gavin's apartment looks even worse than the first time he'd seen it. The trash can in the kitchen is overflowing, there's crumbs all over the table and countertop, food and ejaculate stains on the couch, empty take out containers everywhere, three take out containers with spoiling food _still inside them_ \--

"Yo, you coming in, or what?"

Nines spontaneously develops a belief in God simply because there has to be some grander force at work, and it is clearly one who hates him. There can be no other explanation for the irony of this den of filth and depravity being his only opportunity to clean himself.

"C'mon, you're letting the heat out," Gavin yells from the kitchen. "Do I fucking look like I can afford my utility bills?"

Nines enters the "apartment." It is a very loose definition of that word. Gavin picks up one of the half-full takeout containers, sniffs the contents, and opens a drawer to retrieve a fork.

"I will kill you," Nines says.

Gavin looks up at him in confusion, like he can't see what's wrong with this situation.

"It would be a mercy."

Gavin looks down at the container, then glares at him. "Oh, come on! I only got this yesterday!"

Nines activates his LED again solely to let it spin red.

"It's still good!"

Nines circles around the kitchen table in slow steps to back the human into the corner between the cabinets and the refrigerator. He doesn't bother picking up a knife or utensil along his way. As if he would touch anything in this cesspool or ever need a weapon to kill one simple human.

"God, fine! You're worse than a fucking nannybot." Gavin throws away the take out and is allowed to live another day. "Just go take a shower, Jesus."

"Where are your cleaning supplies?" Nines asks.

"What?" The refrigerator doesn't hold anything edible either, but Gavin still stares into it like something will appear. "Why?"

"Is your bathroom cleaner than ... this?"

"Fuck you. There's bleach under the sink, all right? You can drink as much as you want."

"My mouth already secretes anti-bacterial fluid."

Gavin slams the refrigerator door shut. "Is that why you taste so fucking weird?"

Nines doesn't answer. He has never received feedback on the "taste" of his cleaning solution. It had never been relevant before. Technically, the cleaning solution is also irrelevant itself, as he conducts all of his analysis through his hands and fingertips, so there is no need for his mouth to be regularly sanitized. A small leftover detail from RK800's design Cyberlife had neglected to remove.

"Whatever. I think I have some Lysol or something down there too. Knock yourself out." Gavin yawns as he heads for his bedroom. "Washer's in the little utility closet right next to the bathroom, if you wanna get out of your wet clothes."

The door closes behind him, and that appears to be the extent of Detective Gavin Reed's hospitality. Nines takes a pencil from the living room coffee table that scans with little bacteria present and uses it to open the cabinet doors underneath the sink. The smell of mold immediately assaults his olfactory sensors. This entire apartment should be condemned.

With fire.

The bathroom is just as bad as he'd anticipated, but the utility closet across the hall containing old stackable washer and dryer units is surprisingly decent. Likely because it is too small for food and clothes to accumulate. The corners and small slits between the units and the walls are filled with dust however, but that is almost a blessing in comparison to the filth he's seen so far.

Nines removes his jacket first, as it absorbed most of the beer. Some had spilled down to his pants and sitting in the car on the drive over had let the liquid soak into the back of his shirt as well. They all get removed and placed inside the washer, but he doesn't start the cycle yet. His protective under shirt and shorts also carry the smell of beer and need to be washed, but Nines finds himself reluctant to remove them. He still has to clean the bathroom before he can shower after all, and working without any clothing at all would be--

The black short-sleeved shirt and matching shorts are made of a highly-classified synthetic material that technically can only see legal use through the US military--if not for the fact that Elijah Kamski designed it, and also designed RK900, and therefore dressed him as he so pleased. The material acts as a much more flexible form of Kevlar, although it does sacrifice much of its bullet-resistance for flexibility. It is still capable of stopping a few smaller caliber bullets nonetheless, as well as most knife blades, particularly when wielded by a human.

Removing them would therefore be lessening his defenses, and the crime rate in this neighborhood is thirty-seven percent higher than average, so clearly leaving them on is the logical decision. At least until he finishes cleaning the bathroom.

Logical, non-deviant decision made, Nines returns to the battlefield, armed with bleach and steel wool.

The toilet is a lost cause and he has no use of it anyway, so he focuses his efforts solely on the shower and small bathtub below. Reddish-pink residue stains the front of the tub around the drain and up the sides, a clear indicator of serratia marcescens even without advanced analysis software. Nines deactivates the synthetic skin on his arms and begins scrubbing the whole thing down with bleach and water, uncaring of the direct contact to his outer plastic. He has already been tested against much worse chemical burns than this.

"Hey, did I--" Gavin stops inside the doorway, making a disgusted face and leaning back out to gulp down air from the hallway. "Holy fuck, dude, water that shit down!"

Nines looks up, and his dialogue response gets buried under a flood of data. He has seen Gavin shirtless, of course. Less than an hour ago. But shirtless while wearing sweatpants seems to register as an entirely different scenario to his system. New analysis boxes keep popping up to inform him of scars, an estimated BMI, heart rate, lung capacity, and even his nipples, of all things. Nothing about them in particular. Just a recommendation for a zoomed view.

Nines deletes that.

"The bacteria count of your shower is over two thousand," Nines says.

Gavin is still huffing air out in the hallway like a baby. "The meme is nine thousand, dipshit."

"I am not referencing any meme. The average bacteria count is twelve hundred. Your shower is disgusting."

"You're disgusting."

"Do you need something, detective?"

"You know this is my apartment, right?" Gavin demands.

Nines looks at him calmly. "Of course. Who else could stoop this low?"

"Ha ha, asshole." Gavin braves the bleach smell again and paws through the pile of clothes left laying on the floor. "Where the fuck is my--ha!"

He triumphantly holds up an old hoodie and tugs it on as he turns to leave. Nines steps out of the bathtub and crosses the room with inhuman speed to place his hand between Gavin's shoulder blades, preventing the hoodie from being pulled down. There are several scars on this side as well, but also a wide, smooth expanse of skin, unbroken by the hair present on his chest.

"Uhh?" Gavin says.

Nines ignores him and traces over a gunshot scar above his left flank that matches the entrance wound he'd noted earlier. Not quite a clean through-and-through. The detective may have been standing in front of a wall, or some other object solid enough for the bullet fragments to ricochet off and back into his skin, accounting for the scatter of scars around the exit mark.

"You gonna ask if it hurt?"

"I am aware of how much pain a nine millimeter gunshot causes, as well as ricochet shrapnel." Nines presses on the old scar, feeling how the nerves had knotted up and healed badly. "Why did you not receive adequate treatment?"

"Just had my surgery," Gavin muttered. "Couldn't afford to even look at a hospital after that. Tina helped me pick out all the pieces with tweezers and a bottle of vodka."

Nines does not have any first aid programming. That is the antithesis of why he was created. Yet he has an advanced understanding of the human body, from all the ways he knows to tear it apart. He also has constant access to the internet, and most androids have shared their programming across select networks to create a pool of knowledge. He could have provided better care.

"The department should have--"

Gavin erupts with bitter laughter. Nines takes that as his answer. He skims across a smooth swath of skin to the next scar, just under the human's right shoulder blade. The scar is thin, and a quick press of his fingertips confirms it runs deep into the muscle, but it isn't consistent with a knife wound.

"Whip." Gavin shrugs. "First-time Dom. Thought he was hot shit, and I didn't know any better."

Now Nines is absolutely certain he could have done better. Handling a whip is in his programming, for reasons he doesn't want to examine too closely but are likely related to Kamski. He pushes that thought aside and focuses on running his hand across the exposed skin. His sensors light up with incoming data again, but it isn't so overwhelming as in the alleyway. The input stays as nothing other than data. Body temperature, more accurate heart rate reading, sweat levels and a breakdown of the hormones therein.

No deviant sensations.

"You admiring my ripped as fuck muscles back there?" Gavin asks, deliberately flexing.

"You have an impressive erector spinae," Nines deadpans.

"That's not a real thing."

Nines runs his thumb down to the right of Gavin's spinal column, digging in deep past the latissimus dorsi and serratus posterior inferior muscles to put pressure on the erector spinae underneath. Gavin hisses out a long breath between his teeth.

"Why are your hands so fucking warm, dude?"

Nines digs his thumbnail in too. "Don't call me that."

"Oo, babe, your hands so hot."

"I have been scrubbing your cesspool of a shower with bleach and hot water," Nines replies. "You are fortunate I finished and was rinsing my hands off when you entered the room."

Gavin grumbles regardless, without a trace of gratitude. "Smells like you were fucking bathing in the stuff."

"Not yet."

"What?" Gavin twists around to stare at him. "Babe, you can't scrub yourself with bleach, what the fuck. Just use my soap."

"The sodium hypochlorite found in--"

Gavin grabs his face with both hands and leans up on his tip toes to put himself closer to Nines's height. "Use. My. Soap."

Since the human's hands are preventing Nines from working his jaw properly, he simply lets it fall open and uses his voicebox to project sound, rather than forming it through exhalation and mouth shapes.

"I am shocked you have it."

Gavin immediately snatches his hands away. "Don't fucking DO that!"

"Do not touch my face."

" _You_ were the one touching--tch, whatever. I'm going to bed."

He storms back out again, and Nines is left with peace and solitude for his shower. He sets aside the bleach and steel wool, picks out a towel from the cabinet, and removes--

And removes--

And--

Nines stays stuck on red with his hands curled around the bottom of his undershirt. The next step is to remove it. He will remove it. Remove it now.

Now.

... _now_.

The bathroom mirror continues to reflect the accusatory red light of his own LED at him. Technically, the code running his LED is contained within his system files, and technically, no android should ever be able to access those. Nines has heard even deviants struggle with the concept of looking at their own source code, much the same way humans tend to look away from intestines spilled outside of stomachs.

Nines hacks into himself and shuts the LED back off without a second thought. He has always been like this. Always aware, throughout _everything_.

All the resets, updates, changes to his code, biocomponents ripped out and replaced. "System maintenance" is the only time his undershirt and shorts have been removed.

~~the only time theonlytime that didn't happen those memories aren't real they deleted them he deleted them they are gone not real gone gone gone~~

Removing the remainder of his clothing now is not a precursor to system maintenance. There are no technicians here waiting to shove their hands inside him or open up his code. Nines knows this. He _knows_ it, with heat vision scans confirming Reed is the only human in the apartment, with an internal time and date that cannot be altered, with perfect recall of all the series of events leading away from Cyberlife and into Detective Gavin Reed's apartment.

Peeling off his undershirt still registers with the same amount of pain and system errors as the time he had his chassis ripped open to test its durability.

His shorts are easier. There is nothing down there. The smooth, featureless pubic mound there is almost a comfort. Nothing for anyone to grab or touch or penetrate. Nothing at all.

[place soiled clothing in washer unit] [start laundry cycle] [return to bathroom] [take shower]

Nines has a simple, ordered list of tasks to follow. He should begin them now.

Now.

...

...

_For fuck's sake!_

The thought echoes inside of his own mind in Reed's voice. RK900 doesn't say it out loud. If he opens his mouth at this particular moment, he thinks a scream might come out. It might come out and never ever stop and yelling is an inefficient method of expressing anger and RK900 is not inefficient.

He will complete his tasks. He is not inefficient. No failures will be recorded.

_So what's next, dipshit?_

A question his partner often asks at crime scenes to receive his input without admitting he needs it. Nines would tell him the next step is to leave the bathroom--but he is out there, Reed, _Gavin_. And Nines is ...

He looks into the mirror again. Nothing, nothing, nothing. The blank pubic mound is to be expected. The completely blank torso model is meant to be disconcerting. All the muscle definition in his arms, the option to include body hair over his synthskin, the subtle skin tone shading--it all just stops at his chest.

A doll with hyper-realistic limbs stuck onto a cheap slab of plastic. A reminder of what he is. He can never forget, and neither could anyone who saw him like this.

There will not be a repeat of his predecessor's mistakes.

Nines wraps the towel around his chest the way he's seen human women do on TV. The tops of his shoulders are still well-defined, and the towel covers up where he’s missing collar bones, nipples, a belly button, muscle definition—but if he situates the towel just right, he can ensure only the human-looking parts remain exposed.

Proceeding out into the hallway with his undergarments in hand still kicks on his combat protocols. There is no one to attack, but he remains ready to do so until the laundry cycle is started and he can retreat into the safety of the bathroom again.

He locks the door. It is the first time he has done such a thing. Obviously, he was not permitted to lock or unlock any doors inside the tower. It is a strange sensation, to lock a door and know no one else can come in after him.

The shower seems almost anti-climatic when he first turns on the water after all that trouble. All the sensors on his back register are a precise temperature and water pressure. No deviant sensations.

Yet the longer he stands beneath the spray, the more the pressure seems to--to be _more_. Still pressure, the awareness of being touched, all across his body. But not like the memories that didn't happen. ~~not like hands~~ Not like the sensations deviants describe in their secret online forums.

But close.

Gavin had said his hands were warm. Nines turns the heat knob as far as it will go. Warmth, touching, moving over his body--without his combat protocols activating.

[safe?]

If he does not have a social module, he cannot ~~identify~~ feel emotions.

The bar of soap is from an obnoxious male brand with commercials that mostly consisted of shouting about sandalwood and diesel trucks. Its scent is less terrible though, made at least familiar through Gavin. If he imagines the hot water as touch and the scent as his partner--

[heat-vision: activated] [combat protocols online] [scanning ... scanning ... scanning ...]

If he is not equipped to feel pleasure, he will not fuck a human ~~anyway~~.

Nines puts the bar of soap back and begins scrubbing down his plastic casing with the steel wool still soaked in bleach. It is a more efficient cleaner.

If he cannot have love friendship, he will ~~still~~ not want it.

 

 

 

**data report ...**

****

****

...

...

**[component REDACTED] deemed unnecessary for prototype testing at this time due to likelihood of encouraging deviance. set tactile processor [data: REDACTED] to initiate [run pain-10%-discomfort.exe]. set tactile processor [data: REDACTED] to initiate [run combatprotocol: #22790]**


	12. [REDACTED]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [accessing: data report]
> 
> [REDACTED]
> 
> [̧R̸E̸DAC͜TE͏D]̛
> 
> [̘̜̬̭̜̭R҉̦̜̖̩E̦͙̞D̡̮̪̮A̤͚͉̞͞C̻͖̹̯̯̰̪T̯E͠D͓̞̰͎̹̥̭]͓͇̱̝̺̺͝
> 
>  
> 
> [̛҉̖̱̣̥̘̤̪̼̗̲̯R̖͚̮̠̫E͏̠͇̬̠͉̬̕D̡͙̙͈̼̤̪̜̯̜̼̖̤̬͡͝A̵͖̺̼̝͔̰̰̖͕͖͖͠ͅC̢͠͏̙̻̱͚̼T͉̘̜̖̺͚̬̰̘͉̺̯̼̭̖̥͕̬̰͘͞E̹̠̟̬̮̩̪̮̗͈̳̝̹̤̺̘͞͞D̶̴͖̠̩̯͎̗̦͇̼͖͙͉̕ͅͅ]̵̧̛̩͕͉̤̘̞̺̪̹͔

hands touching [data: UNKNOWN] touching [component #8427g], [component #6312t], [component REDACTED] visual cortex [OFFLINE] motor function [OFFLINE] tactile processor [ONLINE] [set sensitivity levels: 100%] hands touching [component REDACTED] tactile processor receiving [data: UNKNOWN] [component REDACTED] running [subroutine: REDACTED] tactile processor overloading [thirium pump error #7782a] tactile processor overloading, internal cooling system at [83% processing power] tactile processor [OVERLOAD]

[OVERLOAD]

[OVERLOAD]

[system shutdo

 

 

**[accessing: data report]**

**[user ID: K.EL1]**

**testing [component REDACTED] was a success. both RT600 and ST200 models satisfied, as well as myself. performance was mechanical of course, but you can't go wrong with a [component REDACTED]. unfortunately, no time to take this model for another play test**

**as per the board's demands, [component REDACTED] will not be included in the standard RK900 models and will be removed from the -00 alpha test model. "deemed unnecessary for prototype testing at this time due to likelihood of encouraging deviance" [re: data report x6774, x6890, x6921; submitted by RK800 #313 248 317 - 52]**

**set tactile processor [data: UNKNOWN] to initiate [run pain-10%-discomfort.exe]. set tactile processor [data: UNKNOWN] to initiate [run combatprotocol: #22790] ******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so who would like to take a guess at what happened to Nines? I'm in a weird spot of trying to make all this shit sound computer-y and not holding your precious reader hand about it, but also I totally understand if you're very confused. please let me know if you were very confused, and what (if it was any specific thing) threw you off
> 
> answer below:
> 
> Kamski performed his own series of tests on Nines after his physical model was fully built, but his internal system shouldn't have been activated yet. since Nines is (somewhat) aware of what happened, it seems like that wasn't the case, and his internal system was somehow online during these tests for an unknown reason.
> 
> **(trigger warning for rape and sexual assault)**
> 
> Kamski's "play test" consisted of attaching a phallus to Nines and controlling him to have sex with Kamski himself and two Chloes, ostensibly to test whether equipping genitals to the RK900 series should be included in all the other upgrades they threw in to make this version better than Connor. the play test was a "success" in that the phallus physically worked and Kamski had a good time
> 
> however, several board members were concerned about reports pulled from Connor's internal system that suggested he experienced physical attraction to Hank, and rather than consider that Connor is an actual person and experienced real friendship and affection, decided that some androids deviated because they got horny, so included genitals would be very bad. so ultimately, that "feature" was removed, and that's why Nines also have a blank pubic mound
> 
> (his blank chest piece is a form of proactive punishment to make absolutely sure no human could be sexually attracted to him, because of course that's the only reason a human would help an android. just up the uncanny valley a whole lot, make it impossible for him to smile or express his emotions like a neurotypical, and all the humans will think he's weird and scary and refuse to help him)
> 
> since Nines hadn't been officially activated, most of his input systems were shut down, ie: he couldn't hear or see what was happening, only feel. the first part up top are the corrupted data reports he received during the test while desperately trying to make sense of what was happening
> 
> anyway. please please review and let me know if that makes sense with what you've read so far / the data report, and if you liked the whole data report thing or thought it was weird and confusing. I'll be back with a new casefic for this series in about 2-3 months, so please send me good vibes and well wishes for getting that done!
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> chapters will get longer as the fic goes on, and I have everything pre-written, so I should be able to update pretty steadily. at least once a week, and if I have time to edit an extra chapter in between also trying to put out content for my HankCon fic too, I might try to slap up two chapters in a week. we'll just see how it goes!
> 
> the alternative summary for this fic was "Nines stands alone in various rooms and feels Big Sad"
> 
> PS: the components mentioned at the end are left and right legs, respectively. take a guess on what component would be between them


End file.
